


Nerevarine Rising

by lake_arrius_caverns



Series: Prophecy or Destiny [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Morrowind Main Quest, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:42:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28750152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lake_arrius_caverns/pseuds/lake_arrius_caverns
Summary: When Fahjoth Vetharys — an exceptionally unremarkable prisoner caught up in the woes of the Imperial City justice system — is shipped from Cyrodiil to Morrowind, he's left baffled. As he settles into his new life and embarks on the duties he's given in a haze of mystery and reticence, he soon forgets ever wondering what the Emperor's motives were for authorising the release of a random nobody like him.(tags added as the story progresses. comments/feedback always welcome! updates on Fridays!)
Series: Prophecy or Destiny [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061156
Comments: 10
Kudos: 12





	1. Mistaken Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being escorted out of her cell by the Imperial Prison guards, Ribyna resigns herself to her fate. But she soon finds that her expected execution doesn't pan out quite the way she had been anticipating.

Despite the circumstances, Ribyna was almost thankful to be out of prison at last. Of course, she was heading towards her death, but to be out and experiencing the new morning was exhilarating after years and years stuck in a dark, damp, dingy prison cell. To see the sunlight, trickling down through the dusky purple clouds and illuminating everything it touched with a vibrant peach glow, was magnificent. Judging by the sunrise it was likely to be a warm, sunny day; it was a shame that Ribyna was going to miss it. She took a deep breath, relieved to be breathing fresh air once more as the brisk morning chill flooded her senses. 

The guards didn’t allow her any time to relish it, though. With her shoulders in an iron grip, they steered her away from the Imperial Prison, along the flagstone path towards the city. Ribyna had just enough time to admire the White-Gold Tower, a shining beacon in the light of dawn, and watch as the dew-laden grass and gentle ripples of Lake Rumare sparkled as she walked by. It was strange, she reflected, how much you appreciated things when you knew you weren’t going to see them again. 

Ribyna wasn’t sure where her final destination would be, but something began to seem odd. A thought occurred to her, popping up in the back of her mind. 

If she was going to be executed, just how far were they taking her to do it? 

They passed through the city, Ribyna’s hands still bound tight in iron manacles and grubby, ragged clothes hanging from her frame. A few of the early-rising citizens stared as she was walked by, but Ribyna couldn’t care less. She couldn’t see anyone she knew, in any case. 

And then they were out of the city, as the guards escorted her down the hill and onto the bridge, where — to Ribyna’s surprise and confusion — a carriage sat, empty and expectant. 

“There. Get in,” one of the guards ordered, giving Ribyna a shove between the shoulder blades, taking her by surprise and causing her to stumble forward. But she stopped, looking back at the guards with a bemused and petulant frown. 

“What’s happening?”

“Don’t ask questions. Just get in,” grumbled the guard, jerking his head irritably towards the carriage. If she _was_ being taken to be executed, it was certainly somewhere far away... 

“I’m not going anywhere until I know what’s happening.” 

“You hardly have a say in the matter, prisoner.” 

Quite suddenly, Ribyna found herself at the sharp end of the guard’s sword. He held it up towards her face, close enough that Ribyna almost went cross-eyed in her attempt to focus on the tip, and once more nodded stiffly at the carriage. His hand was steady, but the expression on his face was one of utmost boredom. 

“I won’t tell you again. Get in. Emperor’s orders.”

Ribyna scowled. Loath as she was to obey orders without question, it was looking unlikely that she had any other choice. With stubborn vitriol she spat at the guard’s feet and faced the carriage, clambering up with clumsy steps, and perched herself on one of the grimy wooden benches. To Ribyna’s surprise, one of the guards joined her, though he said nothing and invited no conversation. Seconds later, the carriage jerked into motion as the driver spurred the horse on and Ribyna, with her wrists still bound, almost toppled over from the sudden forward momentum. 

Once she regained her balance, Ribyna sat back and watched the hills and forestry of the Heartlands go rolling by as the carriage trundled along the road, and though she wasn’t familiar with much of Cyrodiil beyond the Imperial City, they seemed to be heading east. 

_What was east of the Imperial City? Cheydinhal? Were they going to Cheydinhal for her execution?_

Ribyna was baffled. Still, at least she was able to see more of the province she had come to call home before she was to die. She cast a glance at the guard accompanying her, but it was clear to see from his face alone that she would be getting no information out of him anytime soon. It was far too early to get her hopes up, but Ribyna began to wonder, and it was with an inexplicably calm state of mind that she watched the Imperial City shrink and fade away into the golden morning mist. 

* * *

If the circumstances leading up to her boarding the carriage had been strange, the destination was even stranger. 

Ribyna fell asleep several times during the carriage ride, which seemed to drag on for hours if not an entire day. The rude awakening she received as she was manhandled off the carriage by the guard paled in comparison to being unceremoniously thrown below the decks of an aged boat, which rocked gently on the water’s surface as Ribyna tumbled down the steps and landed with a hard thud onto a thin heap of straw. She soon came to learn that yelling and demanding answers was getting her nowhere, but that didn’t stop her from trying until her voice was hoarse. 

Just what in Oblivion was going on?! 

Aside from the mice, which scuttled to and fro in the darkness, Ribyna was certain that she was alone. She couldn’t decide whether that made things better or worse. 

With no windows or portholes to peer out of, Ribyna had no way of gauging where they were going. All she could do was rest and wait, perhaps try to get some sleep, lulled by the gentle rocking of the boat but disturbed by the occasional grating creak of the woodwork. She spared a thought for Fahjoth, undoubtedly still confined to his cell back in the Imperial City, before the fatigue overwhelmed her and she finally drifted into an uneasy slumber. 

* * *

“Up you get, prisoner. We’re here.” 

Ribyna jolted upright as the hatch overhead was flung open, barely awake and disorientated as she blinked in the shaft of brilliant light that suddenly fell through and hit her square in the face. Throwing up a hand to shield her eyes, she stumbled tentatively over to the ladder and hauled herself up above deck, pausing for a moment to take in her surroundings. 

The boat was docked on the water’s edge at a small town, which was somehow entirely unremarkable and completely alien at the same time. The architecture of the buildings was unlike that which was seen in the Imperial City, and gigantic trees with drapes of hanging moss and vines towered over every roof, casting dappled green lights wherever their shadows fell. Surrounding the town were jagged, rocky hills, making it impossible to see too far in any given direction; aside from openness of the vast stretch of water that the boat bobbed upon, which, from Ribyna’s perspective, seemed to be the open ocean. The air certainly carried a somewhat salty tang, though there was also the curious aroma of burning ash on the wind. The chatter of sleepy town life reached her ears, along with the gentle rushing of the waves rolling against the shore below her. 

Yet despite everything this land seemed familiar somehow, though Ribyna couldn’t fathom why. 

She was roused from her musings by the feeling of someone touching her wrists, and moments later, the heaviness of the manacles was finally lifted. 

“Alright, prisoner. Present yourself to the Census and Excise Office and give them your information.”

 _The what?_ Ribyna could barely begin to process the information she was being given, but she was already being nudged along by the guard standing behind her. He seemed to be wearing an Imperial style uniform, which did nothing to help Ribyna figure out where she was. On shaking legs she stumbled down the boardwalk, to where another guard was waiting to direct her along to a large building that sat a few yards away. Yet another guard opened the door for her, and Ribyna hurried on through, feeling more and more wildly confused as the seconds ticked by. She flinched as an unsettling, mournful howl suddenly tore through the air from somewhere nearby, and hastened to get over the threshold of the office. 

The door closed behind her and the office was plunged into near silence, all outside noises muffled by the walls and lack of windows. It was rather stuffy in here, but in a way, it was homely. Tapestries hung from the walls and books were neatly lined upon a collection of shelves and cupboards. The office was illuminated by the soft orange glow of several candles, and tables stood bearing papers, quills and crockery. Ribyna heard more than felt her stomach rumble as her gaze fixed upon a plate laden with thick rolls of bread, and for the first time in many hours, she realised how hungry she really was. 

Her attention was caught by someone clearing their throat, and she looked up to see an older man, dressed in neat beige robes and sporting fluffy white hair and beard, watching her from his seat across the room. 

“Ah, we’ve been expecting you. You’ll have to be recorded before you’re officially released. Please,” he bade, beckoning her over with a few wags of his finger. Ribyna obliged, more bemused than hesitant, and took a step closer. Her eyes fell back down to the table where a scroll of parchment had been laid out, accompanied by a quill sitting patiently in an inkwell. _Oh no, were they expecting her to write something?_

“Alright, let’s start by confirming your details. You’re from the Imperial City, correct?” the old man inquired, reaching for his own quill as he flicked open a book on the table in front of him. 

“Yeah.”

“And you’re Vetharys?”

“Yeah?”

“Fahjoth Vetharys?”

 _What?_ She almost answered without thinking, before his question finally registered in her brain and she abruptly changed track. “Ye— no.”

The man paused mid-scribble. He looked up, peering at her in silence for a few seconds. His eyes darted back down to the book, then once more settled on Ribyna with an unreadable expression. “Let’s try this again,” he said, speaking very slowly and clearly, as if to a particularly dense toddler. “You came to us from the Imperial City’s prison, by order of the Emperor.”

“I think so.”

“Right. And your name is Vetharys?”

“Yeah.”

“Fahjoth Vetharys?”

“No.”

The man tutted, putting his quill back into its inkwell as he surveyed Ribyna with a mild frown. “There’s no use lying to us now. You aren’t in any trouble, I assure you.”

“I’m not lying,” Ribyna protested. “I’m _not_ Fahjoth. That’s my brother, he was in the cell next to mine.”

For a few seconds, the man was silent. Then he let out a groan, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing his temples with exasperation. “By the divines, they’ve sent us the wrong damn prisoner...”

Immediately, Ribyna felt very awkward. As the old man started relaying orders to the nearby guard, instructing him to send a messenger back to the Imperial City and explain the situation, she also began to feel somewhat apprehensive. If she wasn’t supposed to be there, then what were they going to do with her?

“Oi,” she spoke up in a hasty bid to find answers. As he looked up, the old man raised a brow at her distinct lack of manners, but nodded to signal that he was listening, so Ribyna continued. “If I’m the wrong prisoner, then what happens to me now?”

“Hm?” He briefly consulted his notes. “Well here, you’re outside of Cyrodiilic jurisdiction. But what was your crime, again?”

“Uh…” Ribyna grimaced, hesitating before giving her answer. “Murder...? Technically—”

“Oh, I expect the prison will be wanting you back, then.” His focus fell back down on the book as he resumed his writing, though with a sweeping hand gesture he drew Ribyna’s attention over to a nearby chair. “Take a seat, we’ll have transport arranged for you in a moment.”

Ribyna’s stomach lurched at the news and she began to think fast. “Okay.” With a nod of her head she decided to simply agree, meandering over to the designated chair and lowering herself onto it. It was there that she sat and waited in silence, watching the occasional guard or worker going about their duties around the office. She was sitting very close to the plate of bread, along with what looked to be a small coin purse.

She let her hand slowly wander along the table, inching closer and closer to the supplies that sat there, taunting her. When she was confident that nobody was looking she snatched them, shoving the purse in her pocket and stuffing the bread roll up her shirt for later, hunching over to conceal the suspicious lump. Every little helped, and she was certainly going to need a lot of that for what she had in mind. 

And then she waited.

The minutes slipped by with nothing eventful happening, but still, Ribyna was ready. The tension in her leg muscles was beginning to ache, but soon, it paid off. Her pulse quickened as she heard the front door creak, a guard pushing it open with his shoulder as his hands were occupied by a large stack of papers. It was then that Ribyna took her chance. 

She leapt out of her seat, clutching the bread roll tightly in her hand — and grabbing another one for good measure — and threw herself at the guard. Quite unprepared for a lanky Dunmer to suddenly come barging into him, he tumbled back with a yell of surprise, his neat stack of papers flying everywhere and filling the air around them with fluttering leaves of parchment. As she went rolling over the guard and landed with a dull _thump_ onto the dusty path, Ribyna didn’t linger; she scrambled to her feet and glanced back and forth for a means by which to escape. The other guards were alerted by now, and came rushing towards her with sword and shields primed, but with no other alternative, Ribyna had already started running. Fuelled by adrenalin she broke into a hard sprint, charging along the path away from the town and fleeing in a random direction. A signpost whizzed past, but she didn’t stop to try to read it; she didn’t care where she ended up, as long as she was well out of reach of Imperial guards. 

It seemed that, by some happy accident, she had been given a second chance. And though she still hadn’t the faintest idea of where she actually was, Ribyna had no intention of wasting it.


	2. To Morrowind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fahjoth's prison sentence comes to an end and he is released mere weeks after the loss of his twin, Ribyna. But his liberation isn't unconditional — at the whim of the Emperor he finds himself loaded onto a boat, with his stressful departure from the Imperial City exacerbated by the strange dreams he has been suffering.

_“Each Event is preceded by Prophecy. But without the Hero, there is no Event.”_

_— Zurin Arctus, the Underking_

* * *

“Fahjoth Vetharys?”

In the fog of exhaustion and sorrow that clouded his mind, Fahjoth hadn’t noticed the prison guards stopping outside his cell until they spoke his name. 

“Yeah?”

“You’re to come with us. Emperor’s orders.”

_More orders from the Emperor himself..._

Fahjoth should have been surprised, but these days he barely felt anything other than morose. Ever since Ribyna was taken away, Fahjoth had felt as if someone had ripped off one of his own arms. Lost and in mourning, it had been hard to eat and even harder to sleep. 

And the precious few hours of sleep he managed to attain were plagued with nightmares — of burning, ashen wastelands, of rising crescent moons, of walking corpses and of demonic figures with gleaming scarlet eyes. 

So it was without protest that Fahjoth got to his feet, allowed his wrists to be restrained, and walked willingly and in silence alongside the prison guards, who escorted him out of the prison and away from the Imperial City itself. 

The procession was odd, but Fahjoth couldn’t care enough to question it. Maybe they had decided he was guilty after all, and it was time for him to follow his twin to whichever gallows they deigned to hang him from. 

Fahjoth almost smiled at the thought. 

Perhaps that would be a relief. 

* * *

The dark haze dissipated, revealing a barren land under siege from a storm of dust and ash. Vivid red clouds churned overhead, bathing the scene in a vibrant crimson glow. A voice, wispy and echoing, was clear even over the howling of the wind. 

_They have taken you from the Imperial City’s prison,_

_first by carriage and now by boat, to the east._

_To Morrowind._

Blackened trees, their branches naked and as sharp as spears, swayed and whipped in the wind, while jagged rocks stood fast and unyielding against the storm. 

_Fear not, for I am watchful._

The red skies suddenly vanished, replaced by heavy blue storm clouds that flashed with blinding light as thunder cracked and roared overhead. 

_You have been chosen._

The rain was deafening, almost as loud as the thunder as it smashed the water’s glassy surface and distorted the reflection of the moon and stars overhead, scattering shards of light into the darkness.

“Wake up. We’re here. Why are you shaking? Are you okay? ... Wake up!” 

When Fahjoth opened his eyes, it took a few seconds before he was able to fully register his surroundings. He was below the decks of a wooden boat, the walls and floors of which creaked as it rocked steadily on whatever body of water it was currently stationed. As he tried to process the confusing blur of images and voices that had composed his dreams — _were_ they his dreams, or something else entirely? — he flinched as he finally noticed that he wasn’t alone. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” the stranger apologised. Fahjoth merely blinked; the last thing he had been expecting to wake up and see was a blatantly shirtless and very well-muscled Dunmer, but before he could even think of a response, his travel mate had grabbed his arm and was hauling Fahjoth to his feet. “Stand up... there you go. You were dreaming, by the looks of it. You’ve been out cold since we left the mainland. What's your name?”

“Uh— Fahjoth,” Fahjoth answered, feeling very slow and stupid as his head spun. The ache in his temples wasn’t helping matters at all, but the other Mer didn’t seem to be judging him. 

“Jiub,” the Dunmer, Jiub, introduced himself. He began to brush a few strands of straw from Fahjoth’s back and shoulders as he talked. “Well, not even last night's storm could wake you. I heard them say we've reached Morrowind, I'm sure they'll let us go." 

“I don’t even remember—“ Fahjoth started, only to freeze and falter as Jiub’s words sank in. “Morrowind?” he repeated, feeling a spark of recollection. “That’s what— did you hear her too?”

Jiub raised a scarred brow, and so Fahjoth continued. “There was a woman, I think, I heard her, and she said— she said we were going to Morrowind. And... something else...” The harder he tried to remember, the worse his headache got and he rubbed his forehead with frustration. The memories were trickling away faster than water from a cupped hand. 

“You must‘ve dreamt it,” Jiub said. “Whatever you were dreaming about, it looked intense.” He cut himself off abruptly as the sound of footsteps reached them, gradually growing louder as whoever they belonged to approached. “Quiet, here comes the guard. Just do what they ask of you and you’ll be alright.”

Fahjoth opened his mouth to reply, to stutter another question, to ask if Jiub had any idea what was going on — but Jiub raised a finger to his lips, signalling for quiet, and Fahjoth’s voice died in his throat. Instead he was silent as the guard, decked out in extravagant Imperial-style armour, led him above decks and out into the open air. 

Blinking in the sudden harsh daylight, with a fine drizzle hitting his face from the moment he stepped outside, Fahjoth was momentarily stunned. Though he hadn’t set foot here in many years, this land was unmistakable, with the sounds and visuals stirring memories that Fahjoth had long since forgotten he even had. Jiub was right; they had arrived in Morrowind. Where in Morrowind they were, Fahjoth wasn’t exactly sure. It wasn’t anywhere he could put a name to, but the terrain was familiar to what he remembered seeing while growing up — a whole sixteen or so years ago, before he and Ribyna had left for Cyrodiil. 

An echoing cry suddenly rent the air, and Fahjoth felt his heart jolt as more memories came flooding back, one by one. Turning his head towards the sound, he gasped as he spotted the unmistakable silhouette of a silt strider, barely visible through the misty wall of rain. He almost smiled; the nostalgia was hitting him in waves, and for a moment he was so overwhelmed that he completely forgot about his current predicament. That was, until he felt the manacles removed from his wrists by the guard, who then gave Fahjoth his instructions for where to go, pointing down to a building sitting near the shoreline. 

With Jiub’s words in mind Fahjoth walked down to the building, where a guard opened the door to let him in. Fahjoth was burning with questions; why was he in Morrowind? Had he been deported? What was going to happen to him now? The anxieties that came with facing the unknown began to niggle at the back of his mind, and it was with hesitation that Fahjoth crossed into the warm, dimly-lit office. 

He barely had time to survey his surroundings before an elderly man called him forward. “Over here, please,” he said, his gaze fixed on Fahjoth as he approached. “Welcome to the Seyda Neen Census and Excise Office. Now, you’ll have to be recorded before you’re officially released, and I need to confirm your identity as well. Are you ready?”

 _Can someone just tell me what the fuck is going on?!_ Fahjoth wanted to cry, but when he opened his mouth, what came out instead was a meek “Yes sir.” 

“Very good. Now, you have come to us from the Imperial City Prison, yes?”

“Yessir.”

“And you are Vetharys?”

“Yessir.”

“Fahjoth Vetharys, yes?”

“Yessir.”

Fahjoth’s brows twitched in bemusement as the man let out a sigh of obvious relief. “Thank the divines for that,” he huffed. “You wouldn’t believe the trouble we’ve had getting you here. Confusion and incompetence everywhere... No matter, you’re here now. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Vetharys, my name is Socucius Ergalla.” He held his hand out towards Fahjoth, who gave it a tentative shake with his own. “Alright, if you could just sign your name on that parchment there, I’ll get these papers stamped and we can finish processing you.” 

Fahjoth turned to look at the table with dread, where sure enough, a scrap of parchment and a quill sat waiting. The last thing he wanted to admit was how much trouble he had with reading and writing, especially when there was so much else going on that he was uncertain of. He wandered over, picked up the quill loosely in one hand and lowered it to the parchment, grimacing as he produced an ugly blot of ink and a completely illegible scribble. Hoping that it would suffice anyway, he placed the quill back inside the inkpot and faced Ergalla again. 

“Sir? Mr Ergalla?” he started, wringing his hands nervously. “I... I really don’t know what’s going on, or what I’m doing here. Nobody’s told me nothing.”

“Not to worry,” Ergalla replied heartily. “You‘ll be receiving a letter that should explain everything. Right.” He held out the papers he had been writing on to Fahjoth, who did not feel reassured in the slightest as he took them. “Take these to Sellus Gravius, just down the hall and in the next room. You can’t miss him. He’ll handle the rest for you.” 

With a forced smile and murmur of thanks, Fahjoth dipped his head and followed Ergalla’s directions, feeling the knot of worry in his stomach tighten and weigh more heavily than ever. Sure enough an Imperial was waiting for him, his expression surly as he watched Fahjoth come through the doorway. 

“Your papers,” he said, his voice as stern as his face as he held out his hand expectantly. Fahjoth handed them over without question, waiting as the guard briefly read over them. Then, seemingly satisfied, he spoke again. “Thank you. Word of your arrival only reached me yesterday. I am Sellus Gravius. I'm here to welcome you to Morrowind."

 _Morrowind..._ Fahjoth nodded his thanks, but he couldn’t hold his questions any longer. “Thanks... I... I don’t suppose you know what I’m doing here, d’you? I don’t have a clue why I was brought here, nobody’s explained anything to me.” 

Gravius’ expression was grim. “I’m afraid I don't know why you're here. Or why you were released from prison and shipped here. But I can tell you that, according to my instructions, the authorisation for your release came directly from Emperor Uriel Septim VII himself.” 

Fahjoth had to force himself to focus on Gravius following this bombshell, his mind whirling once again. “When you leave this office, you’re a free man,” Gravius continued. “But before you go, I have instructions on your duties. Instructions from the Emperor. So pay careful attention."

It was all too much to process. So not only was he now a free man, after years spent wasting away in prison, his release had been authorised by the _Emperor himself?_ What would the Emperor stand to gain by personally releasing a nobody like him — to Morrowind, of all places? 

“I— it’s a lot to take in,” Fahjoth said, apologetic for his dazed state. He could only be thankful — and somewhat surprised — that Gravius was being so patient. 

“I understand. It's all very mysterious. But that's the way the Empire works. Silence. Secrecy. Let not the left hand know what the right hand is doing. Anyway.” He peered at Fahjoth with scrutiny. “Are you ready for your instructions?”

Swallowing, Fahjoth nodded. “I suppose so.” 

“Excellent.” Gravius turned his back on Fahjoth for a moment, standing before a nearby table. When he turned back again, he was holding a package and a roll of parchment. "This package came with the news of your arrival. Well— it actually came a few weeks ago, with the prisoner who was accidentally brought here before you. What a mess that was...” Before Fahjoth could inquire, Gravius continued on. “Anyway, you’re to take it to Caius Cosades, in the town of Balmora. Go to the South Wall Cornerclub, and ask for Caius Cosades — they'll know where to find him. Serve him as you would serve the Emperor himself. I also have a letter for you, and a disbursal to your name."

“A letter...?” Fahjoth’s heart sank as his eyes fell on the rolled-up parchment, and his cheeks burned as he was finally forced to come clean. “I... I can’t really read properly. Not very well, anyway.” 

“I see.” If Gravius was judging him, he hid it well. He passed the package to Fahjoth, then once his hands were free he took the parchment, unfurled it and lay it down on the nearest surface. He gestured for Fahjoth to stand beside him, and once he complied Gravius began to read aloud, trailing his finger over the words so that Fahjoth could keep up. 

_“Fahjoth Vetharys,_

_You have been given these directions and a package of documents. Do not show them to anyone. Do not attempt to read the documents in the package. The package has been sealed, and your tampering will be discovered and punished._

_Follow these directions._

_Proceed to the town of Balmora in Vvardenfell District. Report to a man named Caius Cosades. He will be your superior and patron; you will follow his orders. His residence is not known, but ask at the cornerclub called "South Wall". People there will know where to find Caius Cosades. When you report to Caius Cosades, deliver the package of documents to him, and wait for further orders._

_Remember. You owe your life and freedom to the Emperor. Serve him well, and you will be rewarded. Betray him, and you will suffer the fate of all traitors._

_I have the Honor to prepare this at the direction of his Most Sovereign Majesty the Emperor Uriel Septim,_

_Glabrio Bellienus_

_Personal Secretary to the Emperor.”_

Fahjoth tried his hardest to commit the instructions to memory, focusing on the most important parts with as much mental energy as he could muster in his confused state. He then took the parchment, thanking Gravius with a polite smile as he was given directions for how to get to Balmora. It felt odd, having to ask how to find his way to his own childhood hometown, but after spending so many years away from it, Fahjoth wouldn’t have the faintest idea of which way to go to get there. It was then time to leave. 

He headed out through the office doors and stood for a moment to gather his bearings in the dreary Seyda Neen afternoon, frowning as his hair and clothes were damp within less than a minute. The constant, fine rain still hadn’t eased off from earlier, and it was with confusion and great apprehension that Fahjoth began to make his way along the path that would take him back to Balmora. Despite a quiet excitement that churned in his chest at the prospect of seeing it again, he bore a heavy heart as well, knowing that it wouldn’t be the same without Ribyna there alongside him.


	3. Balmora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fahjoth finds himself back in a place he once called home. He has somewhere to be, but first, a chance encounter makes his day.

The road northwest to Balmora turned out to be quite a long one. Fahjoth was on edge for much of the journey; he had departed Seyda Neen with nothing but the prison rags on his back and the delivery he was to take to Caius Cosades. He was unarmed, unarmoured and weak with hunger and exhaustion. By some grace of the gods, however, he encountered no real danger on the way. The worst thing to cross his path was a bloated maggot-like creature that hopped after him with a surprisingly sprightly gait and attempted to fasten its gaping, circular mandibles around his ankle. A few good hard kicks and stomps were fortunately enough to deal with the disgusting creature, and Fahjoth continued on his way. 

By the time he neared Balmora the rain had finally stopped, but a thick mist, stained a fiery amber with the setting of the sun, lay over the town and surrounding wilderness. The first thing Fahjoth noticed was the towering legs of the town’s silt strider, occasionally emitting its melancholy howl that caused the hairs on Fahjoth’s arm to stand on end. 

Filled with awe, he passed under the archway at the town’s entrance, and his eyes were wide as he strained to catch every detail that Balmora offered. It was just as he remembered it. Shops and houses lined the streets, with the town’s residents going about their business and the golden-helmed guards pacing to and fro, brandishing flaming torches that cast an aura of orange light as the sky continued to grow darker. He made his way through the town, his feet almost carrying him automatically along a route that had been committed to memory long ago until he found himself facing the Odai River that cut through the centre of Balmora. Now, which way was the South Wall Cornerclub? 

As he began wandering onwards, the sound of rapid footfalls reached his ears, growing louder and louder in a matter of seconds. And before Fahjoth could even think about reacting, a figure suddenly burst out of the alleyway to his left, taking a sharp turn and running straight into him. His shoulder exploded with pain as the figure collided with him, hard, knocking him clean off his feet and sending them both tumbling to the ground. 

With his nerves already frayed and tiredness hitting him hard, Fahjoth was quick to berate the clumsy bastard. “Watch where you’re going, mate! Nearly fucking took me out!”

“Yeah, well you—!” The Dunmer’s retort died midway through being uttered, as Fahjoth suddenly grabbed them by the shoulders and turned them to see their face. The moment he had heard that voice, his heart began to race. But he had to know for sure. 

Sure enough, his jaw nearly hit the ground as he locked eyes with his twin. 

“Ribyna?!” he gasped, barely able to believe what he was seeing. She donned a loose cloak over her head and the lower half of her face was concealed by a scarf, but she was unmistakable. 

_“Fahjoth?!”_ Ribyna seemed just as shocked as Fahjoth did, but as Fahjoth pulled her into a hug, she was strangely reluctant to participate and instead endeavoured to free herself. Fahjoth was having none of it, however. 

“You’re alive!” he cried, his eyes already welling up with tears of relief and joy. “Gods, I thought you were dead! What happened? What are you even doing he—“ 

Soon he could no longer ignore Ribyna’s struggling, which was at first rather hurtful — but then his eyes fell on something glittering on the ground a short distance away that Ribyna was desperate to reach. 

“Is that a _diamond—?!”_

“Shut up!” Ribyna finally managed to escape and hastily scooped up the sparkling gems that she had dropped, spending a moment to dust both herself and the diamonds off. It was then that a cry was heard ringing over the otherwise quiet town:

 _“Thief!!_ I’ve been burgled! _Guards!”_

“Shit.” Ribyna extended an arm towards Fahjoth to help him to his feet, an offer which he accepted, albeit with bemusement. “Okay, play along, alright?” she requested, pulling her scarf down so that it hung casually around her neck. Fahjoth opened his mouth to question her, but Ribyna interrupted him, speaking loudly while throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Ah, so where was it you wanted to go? The South Wall Cornerclub, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, actually,” Fahjoth started, but Ribyna didn’t seem to be paying attention. She had already set off, dragging Fahjoth along with her and steering him over the bridge, going at a deliberately relaxed pace so as not to attract the attention of the patrolling guards. 

“Yeah, I can show you where that is. Come on, it’s just over here.” 

The twins walked in silence for the remainder of the short trip, and only once they reached the cornerclub and slipped inside did Ribyna finally let go of Fahjoth. “Oh, thank the gods for that. I was hoping to be back here before she noticed — you proper fucked that up for me, Fahji boy!”

“Ribyna, what the fuck’s going on?” Fahjoth started in bewilderment. Ribyna dropped her hood, staring up at Fahjoth with a small grin. 

“I can explain. But first of all, I think I owe you a hug, don't I?” 

“Damn right you do!” Fahjoth agreed, grabbing his sibling and pulling her into another tight embrace, one which she didn’t pull away from this time. For the first time in many weeks, Fahjoth felt at peace. To discover that his sibling was still alive, and to be reunited at last as free people filled him with complete and utter joy. 

After a few moments they pulled away, and Ribyna gestured for him to accompany her as she made her way through the halls and down the stairs of the cornerclub. Fahjoth followed suit, and she led him down to a dimly lit room which he surveyed with interest; several tables and chairs were spread throughout and an older man stood at the bar, wiping down the surface with a cloth. The cornerclub’s patrons sat or stood with their drinks, all of them eyeing Fahjoth as he entered the room with either suspicion or curiosity or a combination of the two. 

Ribyna sat down at a nearby table and Fahjoth followed suit, already opening his mouth and chattering away. “I honest to the gods thought you were dead, Beebs. How did you end up here, of all places? And...” He dropped his voice to utter the next question. “Did you really steal those diamonds?”

Ribyna shrugged. “I’m working.”

 _”Working?_ What kind of job has you running around robbing people?”

“Don’t go mad, alright? But I joined the Thieves Guild.” 

“You _what—?”_ Fahjoth leaned across the table, his voice a low hiss. “Haven’t you had enough crime for one lifetime?”

“Well, I had to make some coin somehow!” Ribyna dismissed Fahjoth’s protests with a wave of her hand. “Anyway! You wanted to know how I got here? Well, when they took me from my cell, I thought that was it, y’know? I thought I was gonna die. Then they put me on a carriage, and then a boat, and then I ended up here. Well, in Seyda Neen.”

Ribyna’s story was sounding ominously familiar. “And then what?” Fahjoth prompted her. 

“Well, then they told me I had to be recorded at the office. They asked for my details, and get this... they asked if I was _you.”_

Fahjoth blinked, baffled. “You what?”

“Yeah, I know right? I know we’re twins but we don’t look _that_ similar, for fuck’s sake. Anyway, they said I was the wrong prisoner — which was just fucking _lovely_ — and they were gonna send me back to Cyrodiil. Well, I wasn’t having that, so I legged it. Makes sense that they finally hauled you over here as well.”

Fahjoth was silent for a few seconds as he mulled over Ribyna’s tale. “That’s mad,” he said eventually. “So it was just a big mixup?”

“Yup. So I suppose, in a way, I owe you my life!” Ribyna flashed him a grin from across the table. “Maybe one day I’ll pay you back for that.”

“Well, you can start by buying me a drink,” Fahjoth groaned. “I’m knackered.” 

“Yeah, you look it,” Ribyna agreed grimly. “You got anywhere to stay?”

“Not yet,” Fahjoth admitted. “But I’ve got to find someone. Bloke called Caius Cosades. I need to give some stuff to him.” 

Ribyna raised a brow. “So that’s what this whole thing is about? They pulled you out of prison just so that you can be an errand boy?”

“Maybe. Nobody’s told me fuck all,” Fahjoth huffed. Now that he was feeling relatively comfortable, he was ready to vent his frustrations. “I’ve just been told what to do and sent on my way. I’m so confused! And apparently, these orders have come from the Emperor himself. He’s the one who dumped me here — well, the both of us, technically.” 

“Bastard. Well, I s’pose we shouldn’t complain too much,” Ribyna reasoned. “If he hadn’t, I’d probably be dead by now.” 

“That’s true. I’m just…” Fahjoth waved a hand in exasperation. “I just wish someone would explain to me _why_ I’ve been sent here. Surely anyone could be Caius Cosade’s delivery boy.”

“Aww, don’t put yourself down, Fahji, I’ll bet you’re a great little delivery boy,” Ribyna teased with a wicked grin. “Who is this Caius fella, anyway? I’ve never heard of him.”

“Well, I was hoping you’d be able to tell me. D’you know who might know where to find him?”

“Have you tried Bacolus?”

“I— you know I haven’t, I’ve only just got here.”

Ribyna pouted in thought. “Huh... oh yeah. Well, maybe try asking him — he’s the owner, he should know. Bacolus Closcius. He knows everything else that goes on around here. He’s probably upstairs.” 

“Alright. Cheers, Beebs. I’ll do that.” Fahjoth dragged himself to his feet as Ribyna did the same. He didn’t hesitate to pull her into another hug, which she gladly returned in kind. “Gods, it’s good to see you again.” 

“Likewise, bro.” Ribyna pulled back, giving him a hearty clap on the shoulder. “I’ll be here if you need me, alright? And I’ll get you that drink, too. You’ll have to fill me in about this Caius bloke!” 

“I will!” Fahjoth promised, constantly looking over his shoulder and waving at Ribyna as he departed. He was reluctant to leave her again so soon, but the knowledge that she was there and very much alive reassured him immensely. Besides, it was already late — he should at least try to find Caius Cosades before nightfall. “See you!”

“See you later.”

* * *

As Fahjoth left the cornerclub there was still a thin veil of mist hovering over Balmora, but the sky was almost completely dark now and the light breeze that slipped between buildings brought with it a slightly bitter chill. The directions given to him by Bacolus Closcius were relatively straightforward to follow, and for that Fahjoth was relieved. All the walking he’d already done today — as well as the violent collision with Ribyna that had knocked him off his feet — had left him aching and desperate to finally find somewhere to settle for the night. 

But as he reached what he assumed to be Caius Cosade’s abode, he suddenly stopped, feeling as though he had been punched in the gut. He recognised that tiny house, sitting so nonchalantly at the end of the street. How could he not? Though it had been well over a decade since he last clapped eyes on it, it was unmistakably the same house that he and Ribyna had grown up in. Fahjoth was motionless as he was suddenly bombarded by an onslaught of resurfacing memories. 

_“Dad, can we go down to the river again today?”_

_“Hmm... ah, why not. Let me finish brushing your sister’s hair first, then I’ll have to do yours.”_

_“Nooo!”_

_“Fahjoth, we have to, it looks like something a guar coughed up. Right, come here!”_

_“No! You can’t catch me!”_

_“Haha! Maybe not, but I know someone who can. Get him, Ribyna!”_

After taking a moment to recover himself, Fahjoth raised a hand and rapped his knuckles against the dense wooden door. For a few moments there was no response, and in the silence that followed Fahjoth began to wonder if he had tried the right house after all. But then came the sound of a muffled lock clicking and the door was cracked open an inch, and he took that as his cue to enter, cautiously pushing it open and stepping inside. 

Fahjoth was yet again thrown a curveball, freezing for a few seconds as he was halfway over the threshold and quickly averting his eyes. What was it with Morrowind throwing buff, shirtless men at him every few hours? But the man in question, who seemed completely unabashed, ushered him inside and closed the door after him. 

“Sorry— sorry for walking in on you,” Fahjoth began to babble, embarrassed. “I can come back later, or tomorrow—!” 

But the balding Imperial silenced him with a single wave of his hand. “Nevermind that. Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

As he scanned the room for a distraction, Fahjoth began to notice what kind of state it was in. Books and empty bottles littered the floor, and even in the low light of the lantern on the table, he could see something very suspiciously pale and grainy in a bowl sitting next to it. Fahjoth grimaced; this surely couldn’t be the right man. Not who the Emperor had sent him to Morrowind to find... 

“Sorry,” he apologised again. “I was looking for a man called Caius Cosades. I was told to report to him.” 

To his immense surprise, the man folded his arms and nodded. “Yes, I’m Caius Cosades. Who told you to report to me?” 

Once again, Fahjoth was floored. His eyes darted once more around the room, taking in the sheer mess he was faced with, which said more than enough about its occupant. Then, finally, his gaze returned to the man — Caius Cosades himself. Why in Oblivion had he been sent to report to an old skooma addict? 

“I’ve... I’ve got something for you,” Fahjoth mumbled, holding out the package he had been entrusted with. He was still somewhat hesitant to believe that the man he was looking at was indeed Cosades, but what was he supposed to do? Argue with the man over his own identity? That would go down well. 

Cosades took the package, shooting Fahjoth a brief squint before turning his back and busying himself with inspecting and opening the package. Fahjoth waited, wringing his hands and feeling almost afraid to so much as breathe in this cramped, cluttered room; quite frankly, despite being much older, Cosades looked as if he could easily break Fahjoth’s neck, and considering the amount of alcohol and skooma lying around he couldn’t completely discount this possibility. So he waited, until at last Cosades turned back, his expression stern. 

“Very interesting. So. You’re Fahjoth Vetharys, correct?”

“Yessir.”

Cosades waved a scrap of parchment as he spoke. “It says here the Emperor wants me to make you a Novice in the Blades. And that means following my orders. Are you ready to follow my orders, Fahjoth?”

“The Blades...?” Fahjoth had a feeling he already knew exactly what the Blades were, but he had to be sure. But Cosades’ response confirmed his suspicions. 

“We're spies. We're the Emperor's hidden eyes and ears in the provinces. We watch the Emperor's enemies. We look for opportunities. We make reports. And, when the Emperor commands, we obey. Now... Are you ready to join the Blades and follow my orders, as the Emperor commands?”

“Right…” Fahjoth dropped his gaze to the ground, his brows furrowed in a deep frown. So not only had he been released from prison and sent to another province, but he was expected to join what was — by the sounds of it — the ranks of the Emperor’s top-secret, elite agents? Fahjoth, a Dunmer who could barely read, had spent six years in prison and had no specialist training or magical ability? 

Fahjoth tried to put into words how ridiculous this seemed, how incredibly outlandish the concept of recruiting him to the Blades really was, but instead, infuriatingly, what came out of his mouth was “Yessir.”

“Excellent. Welcome to the service, Novice Fahjoth. Now you belong to the Blades. I’m sure you and I will be friends in no time. You can sleep here if you need to rest, but leave my personal stuff alone unless I say otherwise.” 

The look on Fahjoth’s face said more than enough, and Cosades was quick to notice. “You’ve got questions, then? Let’s hear it.”

Fahjoth nodded, clearing his throat to gather his nerves before he spoke. “Yeah, um... I just... Why?” He struggled to hide the frustration he felt now, and winced as he heard it creep into his voice. “Why have I been sent here, and why am I joining the Blades? I don’t mean to sound rude, sir, but nobody’s told me nothing at all since I got here. I’m not... I don’t have any real strengths or skills or anything like that. I’m really just... nobody.”

“All in good time, Novice. First of all, we should get you settled before we start on your orders.” Cosades paused to prop open a strongbox on the shelf behind him, from which he fished out a rather fat coinpurse and tossed it over to Fahjoth, who struggled to catch it without dropping it. The sudden weight was surprising, and Fahjoth felt his stomach lurch as Cosades went on. “First thing, pilgrim. You're new. And you look it. Here's 200 drakes to get yourself a decent weapon. Or armor. Or a spell. Or whatever it is you feel most comfortable with.” He stopped again to evaluate Fahjoth, eyeing him from head to foot with a frown. “Get some proper food in you as well, you’ll no doubt need to be in top physical condition for some of the tasks you’re given.”

The slight insult that came from Cosades’ insinuation was completely overridden by Fahjoth’s sheer amazement at the amount of gold he now held in his hands. _200?!_ That was more gold than he’d ever laid eyes upon in his entire life! 

“Thank you, sir,” Fahjoth said, still in a state of disbelief following the night’s events and developments. 

“Secondly, you’ll need a cover identity,” Cosades continued. “Around here, ‘freelance adventurer’ is a common profession, believe it or not. Or, you can join a guild for some proper work. Sign on with the Fighters Guild, or Mages Guild, or Imperial cult, or Imperial legion, and gain skill and experience. Or go out on your own, look for freelance work, or trouble. What you do makes no odds to me, as long as you come back in one piece with more experience than you went out with. When you're ready, I'll have real orders for you." He stepped forward, closing the gap between them and clapping Fahjoth rather forcefully on the shoulder. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Vetharys. But first of all, you should get some rest. Like I mentioned, you’re welcome to stay here, as long as you don’t touch my stuff.”

“Alright,” Fahjoth replied with haste, more than willing to agree to that. Cosades intimidated him slightly, though he would never admit that to anybody — least of all Ribyna, who would no doubt have had a field day teasing him about it. How he was ever going to explain any of this to her remained to be seen, but he decided to ponder that tomorrow; the itching of his eyes reminded him of how desperate he was for a nap. “If you don’t mind, sir, I’m gonna try and get some sleep then. Been a... bit of a long day, y’know?”

“Certainly. Here.” Cosades grabbed some of the sheets and pillows from his bed, tossing them over to Fahjoth — again, without any warning, leaving Fahjoth to scramble desperately to catch them all. “It’s not much I’m afraid, but it’ll do for now.”

“Course, sir. Thanks.” Although he was still feeling rather apprehensive as he arranged his new bed on the floor in the corner of the room, Fahjoth was in deep reflection once he bid his new boss goodnight and settled down to sleep. Although things weren’t much clearer now compared to when he had first been taken from the Imperial Prison, he had a lot to be thankful for; his twin was alive and well, and on top of being a free man, Fahjoth now also had a job, an allowance of gold and a roof over his head — a far cry from the life he used to live, even before his six-year-long incarceration. With this in mind, his last thought before he drifted off was to just take each day as it came — no matter how much more confusion or how many surprises may yet lay ahead.


	4. Arkngthand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a few days of guild work and running odd jobs around Balmora, Fahjoth’s thirst for adventure continues to grow. On being given an assignment to venture into a Dwemer ruin, he is elated — but is he getting ahead of himself?

“I joined the Mages Guild.”

“You _what?”_

Fahjoth stood there, knee deep in the Odai River and grinned back at Ribyna, who was sitting on the bank sharpening a chitin dagger. He knew he had the dopiest, silliest smile on his face, but he couldn’t help it; Ribyna’s incredulous expression was tickling him. 

“The fuck have you done that for?” Ribyna asked. “The only thing you can cast is a shadow.” 

“Oi!” Fahjoth laughed, too accustomed to Ribyna’s mean teasing to take offence. “That’s _why_ I joined it. I want to learn! You should join, too.” 

Ribyna grimaced. “Nah, you’re alright. Didn’t you join the Fighters Guild as well?”

“I did! I think that’s where I’ll be most useful,” Fahjoth admitted. “I might not be any good at magic, but turns out I can swing a sword decently.”

In the days that had passed since Fahjoth arrived at Cosades’ house, he had done as advised and set out to build up his strength. In addition to securing membership in — and running a few menial jobs for — the Fighters Guild and Mages Guild, Fahjoth had visited several of Cosades’ recommended trainers to get some practise in moving in armour and using larger weapons than the daggers he was used to. With the gold he had been gifted, he had even purchased a set of chitin armour and a gleaming steel shortsword for himself, which certainly came in handy when exterminating rats from old ladies’ homes. 

Today, he was to meet Cosades at noon to receive his first assignment. Fahjoth was even beginning to feel a little excited; this was the very reason he was here, after all. Who knew what thrilling mission Cosades had lined up for the newest Blades recruit? 

But for now, while the sun was up and basking Balmora in a warm early light, Fahjoth had taken the morning off and met with Ribyna to catch up and relax. She squinted at him, finally paying attention to the fact that he was standing in the shallows of the river. 

“Any particular reason you’re going for a paddle?” she asked, finally setting down her dagger and nodding towards his feet. “It’s not that hot today.” 

“I’m practising a water walking spell I got from the Guild,” Fahjoth answered happily. 

Ribyna raised a brow. “You sure that wasn’t a water sinking spell instead? ‘Cause if it is, you’re doing _great_.”

“Oh _ha ha_. It’s a hard spell!” However, Fahjoth was ready to admit defeat for now, emerging from the river and sitting beside his twin to let his feet dry off in the sun. “So, what’ve you got planned for today?”

Ribyna shrugged. “Not much. I’ll see if Habasi wants anything doing. What about you? You off to see this Cosades bloke?”

“In a bit,” Fahjoth said. “He’s got my first job for me today, apparently.”

“Juicy. So are you gonna tell me what it is you’re doing now?”

“You know I can’t.” 

Ribyna turned to Fahjoth, her face falling into a rather petulant frown. “You‘ve never given a shit before. Come on, can’t you just tell me? Not like I’m gonna tell anyone, is it?” 

Fahjoth sighed, trying to look as sincere as possible. “I’d love to tell you, Beebs, honestly. I would. But Cosades made me swear to secrecy. I’m not allowed to tell _anyone.”_

Ribyna was quiet for a moment. “Is it really _that_ serious?” Then she laughed. “I mean, it’s not like you’re a secret agent for the Emperor, is it?”

Fahjoth forced a laugh, feeling wildly uncomfortable all of a sudden. “Hah! Wouldn’t that be mad?” Partly for a distraction, he shielded his eyes and glanced up at the sky. “Anyway, I should probably get going. Don’t wanna be late for Cosades,” he said, as he replaced his boots and hauled himself to his feet. 

“Alright.” Following Fahjoth’s example, Ribyna stood up and stretched with a dramatic groan. “I’ll see you later then. If you’re free, meet me in the South Wall Cornerclub this evening? I’ll get the first round in.” 

“Sounds good!” Fahjoth agreed with a grin, patting his twin on the shoulder as he set off for Cosades’ house. “See you later.” He turned and waved over his shoulder as Ribyna called back to him. 

“Bye, Fahji. Good luck!” 

* * *

As Fahjoth let himself into Cosades’ house, he was unsurprised now to find the older man completely shirtless yet again. In fact, it was a rarer sight to see him actually wearing anything over his chest. 

“You’re early,” Cosades remarked. “Good, that shows eagerness. Are you ready for your first task?”

“Yessir!” Fahjoth confirmed, trying to curb his enthusiasm and resisting the urge to salute. 

“Excellent. Here’s what I need you to do.” Cosades handed over a scrap of parchment, upon which instructions had been neatly scrawled — fairly useless to Fahjoth, as his reading ability was no better now than it had been when he had first arrived. He took it regardless and waited for Cosades to continue. “Go talk to Hasphat Antabolis at the Balmora Fighters Guild. Ask him what he knows about the Nerevarine secret cult and the Sixth House secret cult. You'll have to do him a favour first. Probably an ugly favour. But do it. Then get the information from Antabolis and report back to me.” 

Fahjoth paused, the spark of excitement that had been burning in his chest shrivelling up and dying within seconds. Disappointed didn’t even begin to cover it; he had been expecting daring missions full of adventure and maybe a little bit of danger to get the blood pumping. Instead, he was being sent to... gather intel? 

_Well, there’s a bit of glamour in that, in a way,_ Fahjoth reasoned to himself as he made his way over to the Balmora Fighters Guild. Learning about secret cults was sure to be fascinating — not that he had any idea what the ‘Nerevarine’ or the ‘Sixth House’ even were. Still, it must have been important — to Cosades at least, if nobody else — and Fahjoth was determined to make his first assignment a success.

Hasphat Antabolis was, thankfully, easy to locate, standing in the base of the Guild in discussion with another member. Trying his utmost to seem polite and professional, he approached the Fighters Guild’s Drillmaster and waited for Antabolis’ conversation to end. 

“Good day, Associate,” Antabolis greeted, turning to Fahjoth once he had finished. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi, sir. I’m actually here on a job from Caius Cosades,” Fahjoth explained. 

“So you're with Caius, eh? Let me guess, he wants information?”

“Yes sir.”

“I see.” Antabolis didn’t seem overly surprised. “Of course, there's a this-for-that involved here. I’d like to ask a favour first, and then I'll tell you what you want to know.”

Fahjoth had been expecting that. “Of course, sir,” he said, wondering what kind of favour Antabolis was looking for. Maybe to run some shopping errands, or to take some armour to be repaired?

“There are Dwemer ruins nearby called Arkngthand. I need you to run over there and find me a little copper cube. It's called a ‘Dwemer puzzle box’. Bring me back the box, and I'll tell you what you want to know.”

Fahjoth’s smile slipped for a moment as he realised what Antabolis had asked of him. “A Dwemer ruin?” he repeated, beginning to feel that flicker of excitement again — accompanied by apprehension, of course, but he pushed that aside. After the rigorous training he had received, an expedition into some Dwemer ruins was bound to be a breeze!

“Yes.” Antabolis began tracing the approximate shape of the cube in the air with his fingers. “It’s a little cube, about the size of a fist, maybe a little bigger. It will have a circular design, symbols on one side and some lined marks on the others. That's all I want, that little cube. You probably won’t even need to go venturing too deep into the ruins. Can you do that for me, Associate?”

Fahjoth nodded, feeling a wave of hopeful determination flooding his chest. “Yes sir! I’ll head there right now.”

After lingering for long enough to commit the instructions regarding Arkngthand to memory, Fahjoth set off, stopping at Cosades’ to collect his armour and sword before strolling out of Balmora on his next adventure. The sense of trepidation persisted, but it was drowned out by Fahjoth’s overwhelming curiosity and eagerness to explore new places and put his new skills to the test. It was just an old, uninhabited ruin, after all — as long as he was careful, he should be just fine.

Plus, he did have some experience with old ruins; he and Ribyna had ventured through the weathered stone doors of ancient Ayleid ruins back in Cyrodiil, with a group of friends from the Waterfront. Granted, they had barely gone deeper than the entrance hallway, but still! That had to count for something.

Fahjoth’s good mood only continued to grow as he reached the crest of an earthy hill, the vegetation having grown more and more sparse the nearer he got to Caldera. Once he spotted the Dwemer bridge, he couldn’t hold back a jubilant grin. He’d made it! Perhaps it was his euphoria at having successfully followed directions, but even the broad metal bridge itself had a certain rustic charm to it, despite being coated in a layer of dust and dirt built up over the years. Each footstep caused a reverberating clang to echo over the crevasse beneath, which Fahjoth peered down at with interest as he crossed, running his fingertips over the brass handle and feeling its mild, sunkissed warmth against his skin. 

Once he reached the other side, he was plunged into the shadow of Arkngthand. For a few moments, he was struck silent with awe at the sheer scale of it, the surrounding hills dotted by colossal turrets jutting out of the earth — and that was just the part he could see. From his position outside, all seemed still and quiet, but if he strained his ears and listened, he could hear something from deep within the ruins; the soft whisper of steam and a slow, gentle rumble that caused the hairs along his arms to stand on end with anticipation. And here was a scent that hung faintly in the air, growing more potent the closer in proximity he got to the ruins — a strange earthy yet metallic tang that lingered in his nose and even left a hint on his tongue. 

He recalled Antabolis giving him advice, suggesting that there would likely be an external mechanism to power the door. Fortunately, Fahjoth didn’t have to look too far before his eyes fell on a rusted metal wheel protruding out of the ground, which was somewhat stiff but still mobile. And once Fahjoth succeeded in twisting it, he heard the unpleasant groaning of metal and looked up just in time to see the ruin’s spherical entrance gliding open, revealing a door leading into what he assumed was the entrance hall. To his alarm, the rotating sphere began to slowly shut again, and so Fahjoth leapt into action and hurtled in through the entrance before it was sealed once more, assuming — and hoping — there would be some kind of opening mechanism on the other side. 

Once inside, Fahjoth’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom. Along the dim hallways, strange elongated lights were fastened to the walls, casting a warm orange glow with which he was able to navigate. It didn’t escape his notice, however, that several wooden boxes and containers lined the halls, upon which candles sat — many flickering with a small flame. That seemed very unusual for somewhere that was supposedly uninhabited…

Then, he froze as it slowly dawned on him that Antabolis had never once claimed that Arkngthand was uninhabited. That was entirely Fahjoth’s own assumption.

And with that his confidence evaporated in an instant, to be replaced with a heavy apprehension that he could not shake. The ambience of the ruins only exacerbated his nervousness; now that he was inside, he could hear the clanking and groaning of ancient Dwemer machinery all too clearly, along with the occasional hiss as a puff of steam escaped from a loose joint in a brass pipe, both of which provided a constant, repetitive backdrop of noise that was impossible to ignore. Every so often, a much louder clunk or creak echoed through the tunnels, and Fahjoth flinched and froze, half-expecting the rusted supports holding up the dense stone walls to finally give way and collapse overhead. But there was no turning back now. He needed that cube. 

The air now was stifling; warm, stale and thick with the acrid taste of metal, and only getting worse the further and deeper he delved into the ruins. Fahjoth began to feel beads of sweat gently dripping down his forehead and back, making him cringe with discomfort. With caution he pressed onwards, frequently pausing and straining his senses to listen out for any sign of life. And soon, it reached him; voices, coming from an area just up ahead, chatting amongst themselves and apparently oblivious to his presence. 

Fahjoth soon left the corridor and found himself overlooking a vast chamber, cut into the ground itself with stone slopes leading down to the base and up again on the opposite side to a second floor built into the cavern wall. Neither slope looked particularly structurally sound, and he grimaced at the thought of trying to sneak down undetected. So instead he stopped to listen, hoping to glean any information from the two men — an Imperial and a Redguard — loitering around a collection of boxes on the rough, stony ground beneath him. 

“How long are we staying in this shithole anyway? It’s fucking roasting in here.”

“No idea. Long enough for us to find enough Dwarven shit to make a profit off of, I guess. Since Crito’s found that weird cube, he reckons there’s more lying around that the right people will pay a fortune for.” 

“Really? He’s still holding onto that junk?”

“Yup. Keeping it in the safe room up there. He seems to know his stuff, so maybe he’s right.”

“Maybe. I still think we’d have been better off raiding a tomb, though.” 

As the men continued to debate the merits of sacking an ancestral tomb over looting Dwemer ruins, Fahjoth had his answers at least. The Imperial below had pointed upwards as he spoke, gesturing to a doorway on the upper floor of the chamber across from where he stood, which was as good a hint as he was likely to get. But even armed with this information, he was still faced with the issue of how to actually get himself over there without being noticed. He’d never been a particularly skilled sneak, but just maybe— 

“Come on, I’m sure there’s some flin ‘round here somewhere. I’m sure nobody’ll miss it if we just take one or two bottles.” 

Fahjoth could scarcely believe his luck. As the men began to amble further away and rummage around in some crates in the alcove beneath the second floor, he took his chance. As light-footed as a cat, but with less than half the grace, he scrabbled down the slope to his right, occasionally gasping and half-running as he felt rocks and soil shifting beneath his boots. It was with relief that he reached the ground, but there was no time to hesitate — within seconds he had crossed the chamber and was ascending the second slope, having to use his hands for balance as he clambered up the dilapidated ramp. At last he reached the next floor, where he was faced with another circular bronze door which he fully expected to be locked, but to his surprise, it swung open as enthusiastically as he pushed it with scarcely a creak. Clearly it was in frequent use. 

But as Fahjoth took a single step into the room, he found himself face to face with the largest Imperial he had ever seen in his life, whose broad shoulders were barely contained by the iron cuirass he donned. For a few moments the two simply locked eyes and stood in silence, both rather stunned by the sudden appearance of the other. Then, with a ferocious yell, the Imperial grasped the gleaming handle of a nearby battleaxe and swung it at Fahjoth without hesitation. 

With only a second to react, Fahjoth threw himself to the ground, panic wiping his mind completely blank. His first instinct was to flee, but now the man stood between him and the doorway, and there were no alternative means of escape that he could see. As he scrambled to his feet, Fahjoth leapt back as the man came lunging at him again and again with his axe, horrified by the determination on the Imperial’s face as he made one attempt after another to cleave him in half. 

The room, cluttered as it was with crates and stacks of shelves, was definitely not spacious enough to keep up these kinds of manoeuvres. Fahjoth’s only saving grace was that the man, in his heavy armour and wielding his cumbersome battleaxe, was far slower in comparison to him. But the man also had the advantage of both facing ahead and knowing the layout of the room. Continually driven back by the pendulous momentum of the blade, Fahjoth’s heart leapt into his mouth as his heel suddenly collided with a small box on the floor. With an almighty crash, he plummeted straight to the ground, bashing his shoulders on a brass pipe mounted on the wall behind him.

He risked a glance upwards. The axe blade was poised high in the air once more, ready to come crashing down over his head and split his skull into two. With blood pounding in his ears and adrenalin flooding his system, Fahjoth launched himself into a clumsy barrel-roll, tumbling past the Imperial’s legs a mere heartbeat before the axe fell upon the pipe that he had been leaning against. 

There was an ear-splitting shriek of metal on metal, but that barely measured up to the scream of the Imperial as a scalding jet of steam suddenly erupted from the broken pipe, filling the room with a hot, dense white fog within seconds. Fahjoth didn’t stop to check on the state of the man as he heard the axe fall clattering to the floor — his only goal was to escape. Squinting through the mist, he dashed around the scattered shelves and crates and hurtled towards the door, but as he neared it, something caught his eye. 

A small bronze cube sat innocuously on a row of shelves to his right, and Fahjoth’s heart skipped a beat. Without pausing to examine it, he grasped the little box tightly in his hand and threw his whole body weight against the door to shove it open. 

What he hadn’t been expecting was the door to smack the Redguard from earlier in the face, knocking him back against the wall with a yell and leaving him in a dazed slump, blood already pouring from his now crooked nose. Which meant that—

Sure enough, the first Imperial stood slack-jawed at the top of the slope, flabbergasted by the sudden appearance of a strange Dunmer. It didn’t take long for him to recover, however, and Fahjoth’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the man reaching down to his waist where a dagger hung in its sheath. Fahjoth didn’t hesitate; driven by sheer desperation, he charged straight ahead like a wild guar, bashing his shoulder hard against the Imperial’s as he legged it haphazardly down the rocky slope. There was a yell and a dull thud from behind him as the Imperial, pushed clean off the edge of the slope by the force of Fahjoth’s bash, collided with the ground, and Fahjoth could hear only too clearly the enraged shouts of a number of men from behind him as they began to give chase. He didn’t look back. 

With his gaze fixed ahead of him and mouth dry, the beating of his heart as well as own footsteps ringing in his ears, his face feeling hot and his lungs cramping as a result of the sweltering atmosphere in the subterranean ruins, Fahjoth put his every ounce of strength into fleeing. With the head start he had secured he was able to bolt up the opposite slope, clambering up into the entrance tunnels and sprinting the length of the dimly lit corridors to the exit. At last, he turned a corner and Arkngthand’s entrance, his passage to the safe haven that was the outside world, suddenly popped into view. He stopped only to twist the copper wheel powering the entrance mechanism, his hands slippery with sweat yet whizzing around faster than they had ever moved in his life until, with a telltale groan, the spherical door ground open and daylight flooded the gloom. 

The voices behind him were getting louder, their vicious insults and threats echoing through the tunnels, and though Fahjoth’s muscles were screaming for respite, he didn’t halt. He took off, rushing out into the fresh air, where a cool breeze caressed his clammy skin as his hands worked to spin the outside wheel powering the door machinery. Glancing up, he saw two figures come loping through the darkness of Arkngthand’s tunnels — before the door rasped shut once more, obscuring them from sight completely. 

As dearly as he wished to collapse into an inert heap on the dusty ground, Fahjoth knew he couldn’t relax yet. It would be seconds before the men — looters? bandits? smugglers? — reopened the door and resumed their pursuit of him. So it was with trembling legs that he trotted down the hill back towards the bridge, breathing a sigh of relief as no sound to indicate that he was still being chased reached his ears. 

Finally, he began to feel as if he could slow down. Now, with the adrenalin beginning to subside, he was left acutely aware of the stitch tearing up his midsection and each step felt almost torturous. The fog of panic was beginning to dissipate from his head, leaving him able to think clearly at last.

He glanced down at the cube in his hand, cold and surprisingly heavy now that he really focused on it. He examined the inscriptions donning the sides, feeling a stab of anxiety— what if, after all that trouble, he had picked up the wrong cube? But the more he scrutinised it, he realised it was more or less a perfect match for Antabolis’ description. And then came the overwhelming euphoria. 

_He’d done it!_

A grin spread across Fahjoth’s features as he gazed at the cube, so wide it almost hurt his cheeks. His first mission had been a rousing success — alright, it had been far from perfect, but besides a few scuff marks on the chitin of his armour, it was near impossible to tell that he’d even faced a struggle at all. And surely his superiors didn’t need to _know_ about his unfortunate encounter. Why, he hadn’t even used his sword—

Suddenly, Fahjoth threw up a hand and slapped his forehead, eyes squeezed tightly shut in annoyance and embarrassment. Blinded by fear, he’d completely forgotten about the perfectly good weapon that hung in a sheath from his belt. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he and his shortsword may not have been much of a match for the brute of a man wielding a battleaxe anyway. At least, not yet. That was something to focus on in training. 

An echoing clang roused him from his thoughts and announced that he’d set foot on the bridge, but as Fahjoth looked up, he was surprised to see a man standing ahead. He’d been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he’d completely failed to realise that he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t alarmed to see the grey-haired Imperial, but he did wonder what the older gentleman was doing out here in the middle of nowhere. 

“Ah, don’t mind me!” Fahjoth called to announce his presence, holding up a hand to signify that he was not hostile as he began to stride across the bridge. “Just, uh, heading home—”

His words abruptly died in his throat, however, as a pulsating ball of blinding light suddenly erupted from the man’s outstretched hand, hitting Fahjoth square in the chest and flinging him to the ground like a ragdoll. He yowled in pain as the electricity coursed through his body briefly before dissipating, leaving him gasping for breath and struggling to regain full control of his limbs. The Dwemer box had been thrown from his hand as he fell; it lay around two metres away, between himself and the battlemage, whose hand pulsed with a sinister indigo aura as a walking skeleton clutching a war-axe suddenly materialised into thin air beside him. 

“What are you doing—?!” Fahjoth yelled, wheezing after the collision with the hard metal base of the bridge knocked the air out of his lungs. “I’m not— I don’t want to fight you—!”

But the Imperial didn’t seem to be paying any heed. He summoned another spell, a blistering ball of flame that he launched at Fahjoth, who managed to avoid it by a whisker by frantically rolling to one side, although he still felt a scorching wave of heat as the fireball exploded on the spot where he had been lying a mere second prior. Scrambling to his feet, panic building once more, Fahjoth was faced with the man preparing another spell and the skeleton, an _actual intact human skeleton,_ loping towards him, brandishing its rusted blade and its bones creaking as they scraped against each other with every movement. For a split second, Fahjoth’s hand twitched towards his sword — but another convulsing ball of sparks coming his way dissuaded him from that idea completely. This was certainly not a battle he had any chance of winning. 

He lunged for the ground just as the skeleton swung its axe for his head, and Fahjoth felt the blade skimming the top of his hair as he narrowly missed being struck by it. With fumbling fingers he grasped the cube and heaved himself back to his feet, dancing backwards to avoid the spells still being flung in his direction and to put as much distance as possible between himself and the skeleton. Except, now, he had another issue; his opponents were in the middle of the bridge, obstructing the way ahead and preventing his escape. Thinking fast, there was only one thing for it; Fahjoth clambered over the metal railing at the side of the bridge, desperate for an alternative escape route. He was close enough to the start of the bridge, it probably wouldn’t be too far a fall—

But the moment he put both feet on the railing, he felt himself losing his balance on the rounded surface. He had just enough time to catch a glimpse of the side of the crevasse below, the walls of which were much steeper than he had anticipated, before he lost his balance completely and felt himself plummeting down, his stomach lurching up sharply as he descended. With a strangled yelp he hit the rocky sides of the cleft and tumbled down the rest of the way to the base, almost choked by the dense cloud of dust he had disturbed on impact with the soil. Once again adrenalin overtook him, lending him the strength he needed to drag himself to his feet and stagger the width of the crevasse and over to the other side, his grazed fingers still firmly clutching the precious cube. He felt more than heard the crackling of spells as they went whistling past his head, and a scuffing against the ground behind him indicated that the skeleton had followed his path down into the chasm. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself into beginning the arduous climb back to the top of the crevasse, scrambling up the rock face and skidding on loose dirt before finally emerging at the top. From the corner of his eye he could see the battlemage running the length of the bridge, trailing Fahjoth like a hungry wolf while still firing hostile spells at him as he gave chase. 

With one last burst of energy Fahjoth broke into another furious dash, bolting down the hill and sprinting along the path he now found himself on. He didn’t stop to look back, to check if he was being followed. His only objective was to return to Balmora as fast as possible. His lungs screamed with every frantic gasp of air he drew in, his heart hammering against his ribcage and reverberating dully between his ears. It was only once he passed under the arch at the town entrance and fled into the sanctuary of Balmora did he finally stop, and, in a haze of pain, exhaustion and sickening dizziness, he promptly fell to his knees. 

As he kneeled there on the dusty ground, struggling to get his erratic breathing back under control, it was a few moments before Fahjoth could even begin to process his thoughts again. The first thing he noted was that he was safe now; he was back in civilisation at last. Numerous guards patrolled the streets, their helmed faces occasionally turning to look at the outlander collapsed into the dirt — probably with disdain but that was the least of Fahjoth's worries right now. With his chest feeling as though it was on fire, burning up from the inside with every inhalation, he closed his eyes and let the pleasant warmth of the late afternoon sun wash over him, easing the tension in his aching muscles. Finally, his breathing began to slow, allowing for more thoughts to surface in his troubled mind. 

The truth had hit Fahjoth like a warhammer to the face. Today had been nothing short of a _disaster_. It was almost laughable to reminisce on how excited and confident he had been when he initially departed from Balmora. He struggled to believe that mere hours ago, he thought he was prepared for anything. What a ridiculous notion that was. How could he have been so naive? If that was only the first assignment Cosades had given him, he believed wholeheartedly that he needed the blessing of the gods to survive what else might lay in store. 

His eyes fell down to the little cube he still clutched in his bloodied hand, the sight inspiring bitterness in his sore chest. First things first, he needed to return it to Antabolis. Truthfully, he would be glad to see the back of it; the last thing he wanted was a reminder of how disastrous his little mission had gone. With embarrassment and misery now settling in his gut and pain racking him with every movement, Fahjoth dragged himself to his feet and finally limped his way back to the Fighters Guild for a less-than-triumphant return. 


	5. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his disastrous mission to Arkngthand, Fahjoth's confidence has taken a kicking and his mood has hit rock bottom. Can he find the courage to face up to his next task?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy valentines xoxo
> 
> full disclosure, this and the next chapter were originally going to be posted as one but since the word count surpassed 6.5k i decided to split them. but if longer chapters are a thing that people would prefer to see anyway let me know!

Antabolis, at least, had been grateful for Fahjoth’s delivery. He had taken the cube with enthusiasm and offered for Fahjoth to return at a later time, when Antabolis may be able to give him a key to delve deeper into Arkngthand. Fahjoth had politely declined; the last thing he wanted to do was return there anytime soon. In fact, he would die happy if he never had to go near another Dwemer ruin ever again. 

He didn’t bother to attempt to read the notes that Antabolis gave him, nor was he even listening much to what Antabolis was saying. He was desperate to return to his bed and collapse into it, and in his current state of feeling constant aches and pains he found that he couldn’t care less about Sixth House or Nerevarine cults, whatever they were. 

By the time Antabolis finally bade him farewell, Fahjoth felt just about ready to drop. _I’ve just got to get back to Cosades’_ , he told himself as he staggered through Balmora’s quiet streets under the dusty cinnamon sky, clutching Antabolis’ papers tightly in hand. As he paused to look up and watch the first stars begin to twinkle dully from behind the light evening mist, Fahjoth supposed he would have to meet Ribyna for that drink tomorrow instead. Finally, he reached Cosades’ house and let himself in. 

Cosades was sitting at his table, drink in hand as he perused the pages of a dusty old tome. He glanced up as Fahjoth entered, raising a brow at the state he turned up in, but offering no comment on it. Wordlessly, Fahjoth approached and passed the papers over to Cosades, already staring longingly over at his bed on the floor of the corner of the room. 

“These notes are from Hasphat Antabolis? Excellent. I trust he didn't work you too hard for them,” Cosades said, though the look on his face as he surveyed Fahjoth confirmed that he already knew the answer. As Fahjoth began to remove his armour, he couldn’t help but grimace at the poor condition it was in now; he would definitely need to take it to be repaired tomorrow. 

But as he was about to get himself settled for the night, Cosades spoke up. 

“I'll look these over in more detail later, but now, I have some new orders for you," he announced. Fahjoth felt his heart sink. 

_Already?_ After casting one more glance towards his bed, he turned his attention back to Cosades and nodded to signify that he was listening. 

“I've glanced at Hasphat Antabolis' notes,” Cosades continued, a mild frown on his face. “They cover the Sixth House admirably, but not the Nerevarine cult. So. I’m going to need you to pay a visit to someone who can fill in the gaps. Hop on over to the Mages Guild and get Sharn gra-Muzgob to tell you what she knows about the Nerevarine. She'll have some silly errand for you, but do what she asks. And report back when she's given you the information.”

For a few seconds, Fahjoth was struck dumb. There was a searing heat growing in his chest, one where he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to scream or break down and cry, but instead he swallowed and jerked his head in a nod. “Now, sir?”

“Better had,” Cosades agreed, “before it gets too late. She won’t thank you for that.” 

“Right.” Fahjoth’s voice was flat and somewhat husky in his attempt to keep his emotions bottled up, and he scarcely said goodbye to Cosades before he turned and strode back outside into the chilly dusk air. There was a lump in his throat as he walked, and though he knew it was exacerbated by his exhaustion, Cosades giving him yet more orders had been a crushing blow. All of his doubts came roaring back, playing on his mind and reminding him that he wasn’t good enough, and he certainly couldn’t keep up with the tasks he had been given. Yet, what choice did he have but to try? Fahjoth began to wonder whether this job would be the death of him as he paced onwards to the Mages Guild, bracing himself to be given a task that would nearly get him killed a second time.

* * *

Sure enough, the irritable Orc that Fahjoth encountered in the depths of the Mages Guild had not given up her knowledge freely. In return for the information Cosades was seeking, Sharn gra-Muzgob ordered Fahjoth to collect a skull from an ancestral tomb, requiring him to retrace his steps back towards Seyda Neen. 

While in theory this didn’t sound too taxing, Fahjoth was more than wary of what he might discover in an ancestral tomb. The stories he’d heard from the locals had been more than enough to sow worries into his mind; instead of crumbling ruins and murderous thugs, curses and ghosts and the walking dead would be the hurdles he would have to overcome this time, which had been all but confirmed by the enchanted sword that gra-Muzgob had lent him for the errand. 

Fahjoth felt almost numb at this point. He was terrified, of course he was, but he was too physically, mentally, and emotionally drained to deal with it. He could barely even spare the energy to think about what lay ahead, nevermind try to process his feelings towards it. He paused as he reached the southernmost bridge spanning the Odai River, turned his gaze up to the stars, now set against a deep indigo sky, and wondered whether it was too late to meet Ribyna for that drink. Well, there was no harm in checking in. So he changed direction, heading for the South Wall Cornerclub rather than returning to Cosades’. Even if he couldn’t find Ribyna, perhaps a drink would help to steady his nerves. 

As he wandered down to the bottom floor, sure enough, he spotted a familiar figure nursing a bottle at an otherwise empty table in the corner of the room and made a beeline for them. Ribyna looked up as Fahjoth approached, initially grinning at the sight of her twin, but once she fully registered the mess that he was in her face fell into an aghast gape instead. 

“What the fuck happened to you?!” she exclaimed without so much as a greeting beforehand. Fahjoth sighed as he parked himself down at the table, dropping his head on his hands and preparing himself to recount the long, miserable tale. 

“So then I got back to the bridge, and there’s this old man who’s just stood there, and for no reason he just goes fucking nuts and attacks me,” he concluded once he had covered the rest. “Conjured a fucking skeleton and everything. I fell down the... the chasm thing, then when I got back up, I just legged it.”

“Holy shit...” Ribyna mumbled, staring at Fahjoth in astonishment. “Had a hell of a day then, didn’t you?”

“That barely even begins to describe it,” he scoffed. “I feel like I’d have had an easier time if I just went to Oblivion and back.” 

To Fahjoth’s shock, Ribyna bit her lip, evidently trying to hide a grin. That couldn’t have been further from the reaction he had been expecting. “What?” he asked, a wary frown on his face. 

Ribyna hesitated, as though struggling with whether to speak up or not, but after a moment of pause she blurted it out. “Oh come on, all that shit happening— it’s _a bit_ funny!”

 _“Funny?”_

At once, any hint of laughter on Ribyna’s face vanished, as Fahjoth felt a spark of anger ignite in his chest. 

“I nearly fucking _died_ today and you think it’s _funny?!”_

“I never said that—!” Ribyna protested, but Fahjoth was already livid. All of the frustration, shame, and terror he had felt that day had compounded with relentless exhaustion, and now an intense stab of hurt from Ribyna’s reaction had been enough to light the fuse. 

“But it’s _funny,_ you said!” Fahjoth snapped, struggling to force himself to remain seated at the table as he ranted at his sibling, while his voice rose in volume and attracted more than a few stares from the other punters. “It’s _funny_ that I nearly died, it’s _funny_ that I couldn’t handle the one job I was given, it’s _funny_ that it went so fucking tits-up and you probably think it’s _funny_ that I’ve got to go back out and do the same thing, and probably get myself actually killed this time!”

“Fahjoth—” Ribyna started, shuffling her chair around so that she was sitting beside him, but Fahjoth cut her off. 

“‘Cause— ‘cause that’s what’s gonna happen! I’m gonna do a ‘favour’ for someone, maybe not this one, but maybe the next time, or the one after that, but— sooner or later it’s gonna kill me!” The lump in his throat had firmly lodged into place, and Fahjoth felt his eyes burn as tears threatened to spill. He was less enraged now; all he felt was distress and fear, flooding his chest with a dull, unyielding ache. 

“I can’t keep up with it, Beebs,” he choked, his voice breaking and his face crumpling as he finally began to cry. “I can’t do this.” 

He dropped his face into his hands, his vision blurry with tears as his shoulders began to shake with suppressed sobs, but seconds later he felt himself being pulled into a tight embrace which he did not try to resist. 

“Hey, hey, come on,” Ribyna said, her voice low and soothing as she rested her chin on the top of his head. “You’re okay. Deep breaths.” 

As he struggled to get his erratic breathing back under control, Fahjoth was much too choked up to speak, so he simply remained silent with his head leaning on Ribyna’s shoulder. Ribyna continued to talk, hugging him tightly and gently rubbing his shoulder all the while. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh at you,” she apologised. “It’s just... well, it’s just your fucking luck, innit? Only you could end up dealing with that much bullshit in one go.”

Fahjoth managed a watery chuckle at that. “They say guarshit, here.”

“Ooh, well, pardon my Cyrodiilic,” Ribyna jeered, putting on the poshest accent she could muster. The tiny laugh that his sibling had inspired granted him enough of a mood boost that Fahjoth finally felt calm enough to sit up again, though the churning of apprehension in his gut remained and tears still slipped from his eyes on occasion. 

“I’m sorry as well,” he said at last, glancing over at Ribyna with regret. “I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”

Ribyna waved his apology aside with a flick of her hand. “Don’t worry about it. Right, let’s backtrack a bit.” She leaned on her elbows, staring up at Fahjoth with a light frown. “What d’you mean, you’ve got to go and do the same thing?”

Fahjoth sighed, feeling a knot of trepidation settle in his chest once more as he anticipated the task ahead. “Basically what I said,” he explained. “I’ve got to do a favour for someone else in exchange for information. Only this favour involves me stealing a skull from an ancestral tomb down by Seyda Neen.”

“Yikes...” Ribyna lapsed into thoughtful silence, her gaze falling on Fahjoth’s hands for a moment before she got to her feet. “Hold that thought,” she said, trotting off towards the bar. Fahjoth watched with idle interest until Ribyna returned, clutching two bottles under one arm and a plain cup and cloth in the other. She returned to her seat and placed the goods down on the table, pushing one of the bottles towards Fahjoth as she settled. “Here’s that drink I owed you. Mazte. It’s alright, give it a try.”

After giving the bottle a curious sniff, he threw caution to the wind and knocked back a mouthful — only to immediately cough as the unexpectedly spicy aroma overwhelmed his senses. But as he swallowed, the liquid filled his chest with a potent heat that seemed to spread all the way down to his toes, temporarily washing away all of what ailed him in an instant. “Fucking hell,” he remarked, “that’s not bad at all.” 

“Innit?” Once Fahjoth had put his bottle down, Ribyna reached over and pulled one of his hands towards her. She squinted as she examined his skinned knuckles, her brows furrowing into a consternated frown, and Fahjoth felt a twinge of embarrassment that he hadn’t cleaned the blood off before now. He watched as she dipped the cloth into the cup — which turned out to be filled with water — and dabbed it gently but firmly onto his hand. Fahjoth grit his teeth and breathed hard through his nose as each brush of the fabric against the tender skin incited a sharp stinging sensation, but he kept quiet as Ribyna spoke. “Anyway, if what you said is true, then getting away with just fucked up knuckles seems like a bit of a result to me.”

“I suppose...” Fahjoth admitted. “I’m pretty sure I just got lucky, though. I mean, what if I come across something _worse_ next time? What if I’m not lucky enough?” 

“Fahji, you’ve just had a hell of a bad day,” Ribyna pointed out. “Look, I’m sure it won’t be so bad next time. Live and learn and all that. You’ll be fine.” 

Fahjoth could feel his anxieties beginning to grow again and tried to mentally take a step back, as the last thing he wanted was to break down in tears for a second time that night. “I really don’t think I _can_ do it, Beebs, but... I don’t even know what’ll happen if I try to pull out. What if they send me back to prison? And—...” 

“And?”

Feeling very self-conscious, his cheeks flushed slightly as he prepared for his next confession. “And I really wanted to try and make this work. It’s a real opportunity, innit? This could be our only chance of ever doing well for ourselves.” He paused, nodding towards Ribyna. “Not that you seem to be having any trouble with that, mind...” 

Ribyna was quiet for a moment, the tip of her tongue peeking out from between her lips as she concentrated on cleaning up Fahjoth’s hands, finishing the first and then moving onto the other. Finally, once she was satisfied, she let go and picked up her bottle instead, sipping some mazte before responding to Fahjoth. “Are there any rules about going by yourself?”

“Uh... no, I don’t think so,” Fahjoth replied, perplexed by the sudden change of subject. “Why?”

“Then there’s the answer,” Ribyna replied, grinning at Fahjoth from over her mazte. “I’ll go with you!”

“What?”

“I’ll go with you,” Ribyna repeated, a little more insistently this time. “With two of us, there’ll be a way smaller chance for you to... y’know... die. Or get fucked over in general.” 

Fahjoth’s mouth fell open slightly at Ribyna’s offer. “Are you sure, Beebs? It... it probably won’t be easy. I dunno what we’ll find in there.”

“Course I’m sure. As if I’m gonna risk letting my brother go and get himself killed,” she scoffed. “That’s _my_ job, innit?” 

Fahjoth stared at Ribyna in disbelief for a moment or two, before he began to laugh with sheer relief. “Fuck, you’re a lifesaver. Right, are you ready to go?” 

“What, _now?”_ Ribyna exclaimed, and it was her turn to glare incredulously at Fahjoth. “A, I haven’t even finished my drink, and B, you need to rest. We’re not going _anywhere_ until tomorrow at the earliest. Those are my terms.”

Fahjoth opened his mouth to protest, but Ribyna cut him off. “Seriously, what’s the rush? Travelling at night isn’t a great idea even when you’re in perfect condition. And like I said, you need to rest, you look like you’re about to keel over any second. If Cosades has got a problem with that, tell him to take it up with me!”

“I’m sure he’d be quaking in his boots,” Fahjoth quipped, but he couldn’t argue with Ribyna’s logic. “Since when has my little nuisance been so sensible?”

“You know you’re in trouble when you’re calling _me_ sensible,” Ribyna snorted. As she watched Fahjoth rise to his feet, she seemed prepared to spring up at any moment. “D’you need a hand getting back to Cosades’?”

“Nah, I think I’ll be alright,” Fahjoth replied, wincing as he gingerly put weight back on his feet, his sore muscles already stiff from the brief period of inactivity. He leaned down and pulled Ribyna into a tight hug once again. “I’ll come get you tomorrow, then? Once I’ve got myself sorted out. And... thanks, Beebs. For everything.” 

Ribyna patted Fahjoth bracingly on the back as she returned a loving squeeze. “Don’t mention it. Now go get some sleep, dickhead!” 

Taking his mazte with a laugh, Fahjoth waved once more to Ribyna before ascending the cornerclub’s stairs and ambling out into the clear night. Every inch of him still ached something fierce, but Fahjoth didn’t mind as much now, uplifted by the thought that whatever lay ahead, he didn’t have to face it alone. 


	6. Ancestors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luckily for Fahjoth, Ribyna is more than happy to assist him with his next assignment and he’s feeling positive. But will it go as well as they hope?

Not even the deep grey clouds that hung overhead the following morning could squash Fahjoth’s spirit as he trotted along the dusty path with Ribyna in tow. The fragmented sleep he had managed to achieve overnight had done little to soothe his aches and pains, but nonetheless, Fahjoth walked along with an evident spring in his step. It was hard not to let his excitement show, and in a stark contrast to the previous night, he had a near permanent grin etched onto his face. 

“You sure you know where you’re going?” Ribyna called, on the alert for aggressive wildlife or hostile thieves. Fahjoth turned to face Ribyna but continued walking, so that he was effectively walking backwards while addressing her. 

“Course I do! I remember the way to Seyda Neen. And from there we just need to find the t—“ 

His statement was abruptly cut off as he felt himself suddenly drop; his heart leapt up to his throat and his gut lurched as he plummeted backwards, before the world stopped spinning and his brief moment of weightlessness came to an end as he landed flat on his back. As the air was knocked out of his lungs, he lay there and stared up at the sky, wheezing, before Ribyna’s surly face suddenly obscured his view of the clouds. 

“Well done, shit-for-brains.” 

With a groan, Fahjoth struggled to sit up and stared reproachfully at the small rock that he had tripped over. As he opened his mouth to reply to Ribyna’s taunt, he paused as a strange sound reached his ears. Ribyna seemed to have heard it as well, for she looked up and stared straight ahead into a mass of scrubby bushes nearby which rustled and twitched, despite there being very little wind to disturb them. He pulled himself to his feet as slowly as he could, while the quiet _shhk_ of gliding metal indicated that Ribyna had drawn out her dagger. But before Fahjoth could make a move of his own, a large, broad head suddenly jutted out of the foliage. 

The creature it belonged to resembled some kind of reptile, with a large, domed forehead, tiny eyes and a noticeable underbite. As the rest of it followed, scaley hide glinting in the muted noon light, Fahjoth let out a laugh of joy as the creature began snuffling along the ground, tiny arms tucked against its chest. 

“Ahh! Ribyna, look!” Fahjoth cried, taking a tentative step forward. “It’s a guar!”

Ribyna sounded much less enamoured by the creature as she kept back and watched from a distance. “Well don’t get too close, it might bite!”

“Nah, if it was gonna bite, it would’ve by now,” Fahjoth reasoned, taking a tentative step forward. The guar looked up and he stopped, crouching down slightly to present himself as less of a threat. “Hey, buddy!” he crooned, holding out his hand as one would do to coax a dog. The guar turned to face Fahjoth, its nostrils twitching as it scented his hand. Once it realised that he carried nothing edible, it chuffed quietly and continued on its way. Fahjoth felt awestruck nonetheless. 

“Wow…” he breathed, straightening up and watching the guar toddle along the path. “Aren’t they brilliant?”

“Hm.” Ribyna sounded less than impressed as she stared with one brow cocked. “Anyway, let’s stop fucking about, come on! It’s gonna start hammering down soon and I’d rather not get soaked.”

“Okay, okay,” Fahjoth sighed, walking onwards with his twin but feeling strangely uplifted by the encounter. 

The rest of the trip south to Seyda Neen passed without event, and fortunately, the tomb was relatively easy to locate as well. A smaller path diverged from the main road, leading up to a visible door constructed into the side of a smooth grey rock face set into the hill. The siblings ascended the path — with Fahjoth lingering along the way to fawn over a nearby scrib before being forcibly dragged away by Ribyna — until they reached the weather-beaten wooden door, where they both came to a stop. 

They stood in front of the door, but for a few moments neither spoke a word. Eventually, Ribyna took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “Right, well, let’s go then,” she said, raising a hand towards the door but not yet making contact. Fahjoth knew and understood why; he was more than apprehensive about entering the tomb himself. But after appearing to mentally psyche herself up, Ribyna firmly pushed the door open, triggering a sudden cascade of silt and tiny rock fragments from the door frame above their heads. 

“Ugh—!” Ribyna spluttered as she frantically wafted the dust cloud away from her face, but Fahjoth was silent; with his hand held over his nose and mouth as he squinted into the shadows of the tomb, it was with the gift of hindsight that he wished he’d brought a torch or lantern. 

“Right… are you ready to go in?” he asked Ribyna, glancing at her with uncertainty. “It’s… kind of dark in there.” 

“Yeah, I can see that. Not scared of the dark now, are you, Fahji?” Ribyna crooned, and Fahjoth felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. 

“No!” he protested, but a frown crept onto his face as he gazed into the gloom. “But I’m kind of scared of what might be in it.” 

Surprisingly, Ribyna didn’t seem to have a witty comeback to tease him with this time. She simply grimaced and nodded in understanding, then flashed him a wry grin. “Well, it’s lucky you’ve got me then, innit? Come on.” After giving a gentle tug on Fahjoth’s arm to encourage him, Ribyna strode on ahead into the crypt and Fahjoth hastened to catch up.

Even with the door of the tomb left open, the gloom seemed to envelop them within seconds. Fahjoth held out a hand as he edged along one step at a time, flinching as his fingertips brushed along the cold walls and fighting the urge to recoil his hand with every unexpected bump or notch in the stone, afraid of what he could potentially touch in the unyielding darkness. 

Then something brushed against his other hand and his breath caught in his throat, his heart immediately hammering against the inside of his chest as he whipped his arm back to safety — but as his brain caught up with his senses and he heard a gasp and a series of rapid footsteps, he realised that he had merely brushed his sibling’s shoulder. 

“Ugh, this is ridiculous!” he heard Ribyna hiss. “I’m gonna try something, hang on.” 

Fahjoth waited in silence, wondering what Ribyna was doing but appreciating the moment of pause, taking it as an opportunity to try to calm his nerves down again. He didn’t have to wait for long, however, as a small flame suddenly erupted into life in the darkness, casting a deep amber glow on the surrounding walls and illuminating their way forward, if only slightly. Ribyna’s face was lit up the most as she held out her palm, upon which a tiny flame danced and flickered away enthusiastically. 

“ _Yes_!” 

“Nice one!” Fahjoth praised. “Merrick would be proud—”

Too late did Fahjoth realise his mistake, and he cut himself off abruptly as he saw the grin immediately vanish from Ribyna’s face. She said nothing but instead continued walking on in silence, and Fahjoth hurried along in her wake and reached out for her shoulder as they went. 

“Sorry, Beebs,” he apologised, but he was still bothered by a feeling he couldn’t shake. In all the time they had been together, both in prison and later in Vvardenfell, not once had they discussed the event that had been the catalyst for their arrest. In fact, since reuniting, they had barely talked about any aspect of their old lives at all. But, in Fahjoth’s case, this wasn’t for lack of wanting to. “Look… are we ever gonna talk about—”

“No.”

“Ribyna—”

“I said _no_ , Fahjoth. I don’t want to.”

As uncomfortable as Fahjoth felt, he knew better than to provoke Ribyna by antagonising her further. So he let the matter drop and quietly accepted that they would not broach the subject again any time soon. 

It was Ribyna who broke the silence next. “Eugh, can you smell that?”

Fahjoth cautiously sniffed the air, instinctively wrinkling his nose as a foul smell, putrid and oddly sweet, suddenly hit his senses. “Ew… well, we _are_ in a tomb,” he pointed out. “It’s bound to smell a bit rank down here.”

“I suppose…” 

The path into the crypt continued on, angling down a mild incline, while Ribyna’s flame casted dancing shadows along the narrow corridor. As they went on, a quiet buzz reached Fahjoth’s ears, and the stomach-churning smell only continued to grow worse with every step. Finally, they reached a larger chamber at the base of the corridor, and from the light of the fire they were able to see the source.

Fahjoth recoiled as his eyes fell upon a large, dark shape lying prone on the floor, with indistinct black dots swarming around it — fleshflies. Ribyna raised her hand to angle the light more precisely on the mass, casting every wrinkle of clothing and detail of armour into sharp relief. The head was concealed by a leather helm, and for that, Fahjoth was grateful; only a withered, decaying hand crawling with insects gave any indication of the condition of the corpse underneath its garments. A dried, dark brown stain pooled out from beneath the body — whether as a result of old blood from a fatal wound or simply tissue decomposition, Fahjoth couldn’t tell. 

“Ew…” Ribyna said, drawing her scarf up to cover her mouth and nose in an attempt to ward off the smell. “Looks like we’re not the first ones here. Reckon your Orc woman sent him here to do her favour, too?”

Fahjoth was silent, staring at the cadaver with horror — a feeling which only vastly amplified as he watched Ribyna crouch down and, with a kind of repulsed detachment, tugged something out from under the body’s arm. 

“Ribyna, what the fuck are you—?!”

“Look, it’s a lantern,” Ribyna remarked, holding up the cracked glass casing and sounding so utterly nonchalant about stealing from a corpse that Fahjoth was floored. She popped open the door and held her conjured fire out towards the candle wick, letting it light before allowing the flame in her hand to die. “There, now I can stop wasting brainpower. I don’t have much of that to spare in the first place.”

Fahjoth was dumbstruck, and eventually managed to shake his head in total disbelief. “I can’t believe you sometimes,” he said, though he couldn’t hide a wry smile nonetheless. Ribyna simply flashed him a wicked grin in response before carrying on, holding the lantern out at arm’s length to light their path. 

The deeper they went into the tomb, the colder it seemed to become. A thin blanket of mist hung just above ground level, smokey tendrils creeping around doorways and stone caskets that bore collections of urns and jars. Some chambers featured circular pits set into the ground which contained mounds of ash, and judging by the shards of gleaming white jutting out of the grey dust, most of these held numerous bones. Fahjoth shivered, feeling the chill seeming to seep into his own bones, but Ribyna seemed to be handling it well, staring from wall to wall with curiosity on her face. 

“D’you reckon we’ve got an ancestral tomb somewhere?” she asked suddenly, her mind evidently in a much different place to Fahjoth’s. Momentarily stumped by the question, Fahjoth eventually responded with uncertainty. 

“I suppose so, I mean… Dad told us about his family before, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but…” Ribyna grimaced, the next words appearing to cause her some discomfort. “They wouldn’t _really_ be our ancestors, would they? Not properly.” She heaved a sigh, her breath appearing in the air before her in the form of a tiny cloud. “I dunno, it’s just… being called ‘outlander’ by every bastard makes me wonder if we even actually have any real ties here.”

Taken aback by Ribyna’s uncharacteristic poignancy, Fahjoth merely shook his head and shrugged. “I dunno, Beebs. I don’t suppose it really matters, we’re gonna get called outlanders either way. It’s definitely the accents,” he added as an irate afterthought, prompting a dry chuckle from Ribyna. 

“Yup. Oh well, suppose we’ll just have to d— Oh, Fahjoth, look!”

Ribyna’s exclamation was accompanied by a pointing of her finger as she drew Fahjoth’s attention to another pit of dust in the chamber just ahead; this one was set apart from the rest by the skull and dagger placed so meticulously on a stone stool situated just in front of the pit itself. Fahjoth trotted over alongside Ribyna and, as the two crouched down to get a closer look, Ribyna turned to look at Fahjoth expectantly. 

“Is this it, d’you reckon?”

“I think so...” He glanced back at his twin before focusing his attention back on the skull. Sure enough, it bore the telltale ritual markings that Sharn gra-Muzgob had described. “Only one way to find out, innit?” 

Despite his words, Fahjoth hesitated. Now that he had located his prize, all of his misgivings had returned and he was conscious of the weight of the enchanted sword that hung from his belt — surely it had been lent to him for a reason. 

If— no, _when_ he picked up the skull, what would happen? Would he trigger a trap that would cause the roof to cave in over his and Ribyna’s heads? Would he suddenly be struck down by a powerful curse? Or perhaps he would wake the souls of the ancestors that rested here, and be besieged by an army of vengeful ghosts? 

Ribyna seemed to be getting impatient with Fahjoth’s dithering, for she suddenly gave his shoulder a rather forceful push. “Come on, what’s the hold up? Just pick it up, don’t be such a fucking pussy.”

“Alright, alright!” Fahjoth huffed, reaching into his pocket for the cloth sack he had brought for the occasion. He shuffled both hands into the sack, wearing it like an oversized mitten as he tentatively scooped up the skull and let the sack invert itself over it, still afraid of touching it with his bare skin. For a few seconds, he held his breath, remaining in a motionless crouch while he waited to see if anything would happen following the skull’s removal. The seconds ticked by and, to his elation, there was no cave-in, no sudden pox or plague upon him, and no horde of angry spirits rising to tear him limb from limb. Nothing untoward occurred whatsoever. They were safe! 

“There we are!” Ribyna jeered, patting Fahjoth roughly on the back as he stood up, feeling almost giddy with relief. While he bobbed on the spot, thrilled with this one tiny achievement, Ribyna crouched down to pick up the dagger that had been left behind on the stool. “I’d say that’s a job well done. Looks like you didn’t need me after a—”

Her words died in her throat as, with a subtle _fshk_ , an arrow pierced the air between them — whizzing directly over Ribyna’s head — and ricocheted off the back wall of the chamber. Spinning frantically to locate the source, Fahjoth let out a choked gasp as he clapped eyes on their attacker.

“ _Fuck-a-doodle-doo_!” Ribyna yelled, wide-eyed as she stared with horror at the skeleton while it drew another arrow into its bow, the telltale creaking of its bones providing a quiet hum that seemed to echo through the chamber. 

“Shit, not again—!” Fahjoth exclaimed, already beginning to descend into a state of panic. The chamber was cramped and, without much in the way of large objects to take cover behind, he and Ribyna were essentially sitting targets for the undead archer who was taking aim once more. 

“Ribyna, just keep moving!” Fahjoth yelped, using the limited space available to dart from spot to spot as erratically as he physically could. Ribyna, meanwhile, seemed to have other ideas. 

Fahjoth’s jaw nearly hit the ground as he watched his twin lunge and grasp a nearby urn tightly in both hands. He felt his stomach drop, knowing full well what was coming next. 

“Ribyna, don’t—!”

“Get fucked, you bony bastard!”

The urn was launched through the air, flying up in a graceful arc — spilling its ashy contents in a cloud of dust in the process — and collided with the skeleton’s skull, shattering both itself and the bone on impact. The skeleton crumpled, its bones falling apart as whatever magic had been fastening the joints together dissipated, filling the chamber with a deafening clattering as both bone and pottery shards went spilling onto the ground. 

As Fahjoth stared mutely at the chaotic scene, a thick silence fell upon the tomb for a second or two; until an eerie hissing began to reach his ears, seeming to turn his blood to ice in his veins. Was it just his eyes, or was the mist that drifted above the ground growing thicker? 

“Oh, _Ribyna_ …!” Fahjoth groaned, turning to look at his twin with despairing exasperation. She merely stared back, wide-eyed and alarmed, before she snatched the lantern from where she’d put it down and rushed to grab Fahjoth’s hand. 

“Well, come on then!” she barked, rushing out of the chamber and dragging Fahjoth along in her wake. They barely made it to the next chamber up before they found a figure, pale green and gleaming with an ethereal glow, blocking their path. Bright smoke seemed to billow along their path as they glided towards the twins, reaching out with unnaturally long, spindly fingers topped with deadly sharp nails. 

“For fuck’s sake, you’ve woken the whole bloody tomb up!” Fahjoth complained, dropping a hand towards his sheathed weapon. But Ribyna got there first, whipping out her trusty chitin dagger and slashing it at the spirit — only to watch as the blade sailed right on through. 

“Fahjoth, we can’t touch them— _Shit_!”

The ghost, undeterred by Ribyna’s dagger, had retaliated with a vengeance by slashing its claw-like nails across her chest. She leapt back to avoid the strike, gasping as it left tangible scores in her leather armour and for a moment, in the mixed light from the lantern and the ghost’s cold luminescence, fear flashed across her face. 

“Fahjoth—!”

“Hold on, Ribyna—! Get back!” he cried, drawing his own sword from its sheath at last. His eyes widened as his face was suddenly bathed in the fierce heat of the flames that flickered along the blade, and in that moment, it clicked. He charged and swung the sword with a ferocious yell, watching as, with a searing blaze of scarlet fire, it carved a gash through the ghost’s midriff from which thick smoke began to spill. The spirit emitted an ear-splitting shriek, drifting towards Fahjoth again with its spectral features twisted into a grotesque snarl, but Fahjoth was ready this time. He sprung forward again and plunged the sword straight through the spirit’s chest, stopping it in its tracks and causing it to let out another piercing screech before it suddenly dissolved, disappearing in a matter of seconds and leaving behind nothing but a sinister puddle on the ground. 

As Fahjoth paused to catch his breath, he turned to Ribyna and held up the sword by means of explanation. “Enchanted,” he puffed. “The weapon’s got to be enchanted.” 

Ribyna opened her mouth to respond, but she was cut off by another chilling howl that echoed through the corridors behind them. Without a word the twins snatched each others’ hands once more and fled through the tomb, guided by the limited light of the lantern that Ribyna still carried and hounded by the sinister whispering and shrieking of infuriated spirits. After a mad dash through the crypt, the entrance was finally in sight, spilling glorious daylight into the otherwise pitch blackness ahead of them. 

With one last burst of speed they cleared the exit together, and once outside, Fahjoth slammed the tomb door behind them hard enough that it rattled in its frame before becoming still. With a cool rain now battering them, Fahjoth and Ribyna stood in silence, leaning against the damp stone wall on either side of the tomb door and panting as they struggled to catch their breath. Eventually, Fahjoth broke the silence. 

“I can’t believe you chucked someone’s grandma at a skeleton.”

Ribyna squinted, still leaning over with her hands on her knees and puffing heavily from a combination of exertion and adrenalin from their daring escape. Once her breathing had calmed, she finally straightened up and stared back at Fahjoth with her hands on her hips. 

“I s’pose the locals are right,” she said, her tone even and measured. “Turns out ancestors _are_ useful.”

A moment of silence followed this statement, before Fahjoth couldn’t hold it in any longer. With a grin curling at the corners of his mouth he began to laugh, quietly at first but quickly coming down with hysterics at the sheer absurdity of the situation. Ribyna quickly followed suit, catching his contagious laughter and breaking out into an uncontrollable fit of the giggles. 

Once the laughter died down, Fahjoth rolled his eyes and extended an arm towards Ribyna, who accepted his offer and linked it with her own. In unison they began the lengthy stroll back to Balmora, neither of them complaining about the drizzle leaving their clothes soaked through and their hair dripping and plastered to their faces.

Despite a few blunders, Fahjoth felt that his second task had been at least somewhat of a success. Emboldened by the little victories, it was then that he dared to hope that perhaps this Blades business wouldn’t be so bad after all — especially when he had good company to help him see it through. 


	7. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a successful assignment, Fahjoth is glad to be given a few days off and learns a little about his duties from Caius. The twins plan a trip to Vivec City for some exploration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops im seeing about changing my upload day to friday but yesterday i totally forgot abt it so lmao

Flouncing through the front door of Cosades’ tiny house, Fahjoth couldn’t wipe the grin off his face as he brandished the scrolls of parchment with glee. 

“I got them!” he cried, ecstatic. “The notes from Sharn gra-Muzgob! I got them!”

Cosades looked up from his supper with one brow raised, but by no means did he look on with disapproval. “And not a scratch on you,” he remarked, holding out a hand to receive the scrolls as Fahjoth passed them over. “I knew it wouldn’t be long before you found your feet. Well done, Novice.” 

“Well, I had help—” Fahjoth started, unwilling to take all the credit for his achievement, but Cosades didn’t seem to be listening anyway. He unfurled the scrolls and silence fell as he pored over them, a thoughtful look on his face as he examined the scrawling, loopy handwriting. Fahjoth took a seat at the table and waited, wondering what his next assignment was to be. At least Ribyna was on standby back at the South Wall Cornerclub, and for that, Fahjoth was grateful. 

“Well, Fahjoth,” Cosades started, rolling up the parchments once again and turning to face Fahjoth with the beginnings of a smile, “I’m promoting you to Blades Apprentice. You deserve it after the hard work you’ve put into all your duties.” 

Fahjoth’s heart began to soar with excitement. “Apprentice?” he repeated, awestruck. “Thank you, sir! So, uhh... what will I be expected to do now?” 

“Nothing too different, I assure you. It’s mostly a recognition thing, to be perfectly honest,” Cosades answered. He got to his feet, beginning to pace around the room in deep thought and occasionally stopping to check a book or scrap of paper, cross referencing several stacks of notes. Fahjoth wondered how he was able to keep track of it all. “Now, I'd like some time to think how this all fits in with the Emperor's plans for you. So if you'd like to get in a little freelance adventuring, go ahead. But whenever you're ready, I'll have new orders for you."

“Oh... alright.” The news came as a welcome surprise for sure. Fahjoth had to admit, he was glad to have a few days of downtime at last. It would be a good opportunity for him and Ribyna to do some exploring; she had mentioned wanting to visit Vivec City at some point, perhaps now they could finally go. 

But there was one thing that he had been growing more and more curious about; the subject of all his errands, the very reason he had been putting his life on the line in exchange for whatever information Cosades wanted. He knew nothing about any of it, and the burning desire to ask, to learn exactly why it was so important, could not be quashed. Maybe now was the time. 

“Sir?” he questioned, biting his lip with uncertainty. Cosades stared fixedly at Fahjoth, indicating that he was listening, and so Fahjoth continued — albeit with some hesitation. “Could you explain the... _things_ that I’ve been getting information about? The, uh, the Sixth House and the Nev... Nevera... Neraver—“

“The Nerevarine,” Cosades finished for him, and Fahjoth nodded. “Of course. I forget that you can’t read well. We’ll start with the Sixth House.” 

Fahjoth shuffled in his seat, getting himself comfortable and listening with rapt attention as Cosades began to speak. “There isn’t much to say about the Sixth House cult just yet. A trusted informant of mine says they're a secret cult associated with some strange events recently. More importantly, my informant thinks these recent disturbances are related in some way to the Nerevarine Prophecies."

“And what are the—?”

“I’m getting to that part, Apprentice. One thing at a time. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but there’s been some attacks recently attributed to sleeper agents of this cult. Have you heard anything about them?”

Fahjoth shook his head. “No sir.” 

“There've been several attacks recently, and these Sleepers all say the same thing. _‘Serve your Lord, Dagoth Ur. The Sixth House is risen, and Dagoth is its glory.’_ ”

A shiver suddenly tore through Fahjoth’s ribs, catching him by surprise. Why did that name sound so familiar? There was no distinct emotional response attached to hearing it, but the hairs on Fahjoth’s arms continued to stand on end, giving him prominent goosebumps. 

“Keep an eye out, and if you see anything suspicious, let me know.” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Alright, now for the Nerevarine.” Cosades rejoined Fahjoth at the table and took a swig of something from an open bottle before continuing. “The Ashlanders—“ 

“The what?”

“The Ashlanders— by the divines, Vetharys...”

Fahjoth grimaced, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Sorry...”

“No, it’s alright,” Cosades sighed. “I just thought you would’ve heard about them by now. I don't know much about them. Most people say they‘re murderous savages. But most people are idiots. I know they hate the settled Dunmer almost as much as they hate Westerners. I don't think their tribes tend to be particularly welcoming to outlanders, so watch yourself if you’re ever wandering in the Ashlands.” 

Fahjoth nodded, remaining quiet to let Cosades go on. 

“The Ashlanders pass down their customs and history in the form of poetic verses. Among the things they preserve in verse are the dreams and prophetic visions of their wise women, in particular the verses that foretell the coming of the Nerevarine. And before you ask,” Cosades added, seeing that Fahjoth was about to speak again, “some Dunmer believe that an orphan and outcast, a youth born on a certain day to uncertain parents, will one day unite all the tribes of the Dunmer, drive out the invaders of Morrowind, and reestablish the ancient laws and customs of the Dark Elven nations. They call this orphan and outcast the ‘Nerevarine’, and say they will be a reincarnation of the long-dead Dunmer General and First Councilor, Lord Indoril Nerevar. But... I don't know much else about it. That's why I'm sending you to find out.” 

Fahjoth nodded, fascinated by the sudden bombardment of information he was receiving. “And... it’s relevant to stuff that’s happening now? These cult attacks and whatnot? That’s why we’re investigating it?”

There was a split second where Fahjoth thought that Cosades may have paused, his stern grey eyes locked on Fahjoth’s own, but then came a perfectly normal response, leaving him wondering if he’d simply imagined it. 

“Correct.” 

Armed with this knowledge, Fahjoth suddenly felt inspired. So this was what all his top-secret missions had really been about. He still had no idea why he’d been pulled out of prison to join this endeavour specifically, but he no longer felt as much of a need to question it. This was his chance to make a difference, to do some real good in the world; it strengthened his resolve and he silently vowed to give it his all, regardless of how many errands he would end up having to run. 

“Alright. Thanks, sir.” Fahjoth rose to his feet, figuring he should go and find Ribyna and tell her the news, but Cosades leaned back in his chair and stared at him with such a dour look in his eyes that Fahjoth faltered.

“Don’t forget, Vetharys — always pay attention to what’s going on around you. You’re an agent of the Blades; information is our specialty,” he advised. “And _never_ let your guard down. I don’t ever want to find you being sent back to me in a box.” 

Fahjoth cringed, feeling distinctly like he was being told off for the sheer amount of ignorance he had so openly displayed. _Well, he had to learn somehow, didn't he?_ “Yes, sir… thank you, sir.” 

And with that he bade farewell to Cosades for now, scurrying out of the house before he could be admonished further, and made a beeline straight for the South Wall Cornerclub. Just as he rounded the corner and descended the short flight of stone steps between buildings, he found himself face-to-face with a familiar dark-haired figure, and coincidentally just the person he was looking for. 

“Ribyna!” he called, grinning as he got his sibling’s attention seconds before she stepped into the cornerclub. “Thought I’d find you here.”

“‘Sup, Fahji?” Ribyna turned away from the doorway and gave Fahjoth the usual hug of greeting. “You look happy. Has something happened?”

“I got a promotion!” he exclaimed without hesitation, eager to share the news. “And I got a few days off, too. I was thinking maybe we could do something.”

“Ah, well done, bro!” Ribyna congratulated him with a grin. “Yeah, I’m good for a few days. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I thought maybe we could go to Vivec City? If you still wanted to go there, that is.”

For the second time that night, Fahjoth thought he detected a fleeting look of hesitation on the face of someone he was speaking to. This time it was Ribyna, who appeared almost apprehensive as soon as Fahjoth had mentioned going to Vivec City; but then her response was as casual as ever, leaving Fahjoth even more befuddled and debating with himself over whether he was just seeing things.

 _Maybe I’m just tired_ , he mused to himself. 

“Yeah, sounds good. D’you wanna leave now or tomorrow?” Ribyna asked. “If you like, I can go see how much the silt strider bloke charges.”

“Well, it’s getting on a bit, but…” Fahjoth paused, looking upwards and searching for the position of the sun, which was already past its highest point in the sky. He estimated that they had a few hours of daylight left, so ignoring the little voice of caution in his head, he made his decision. 

“Yeah, why not? Let’s go tonight. Could be fun to stay overnight in the big city!” Fahjoth enthused, and Ribyna nodded. 

“Alright! I’ll go find out how much a one way trip costs,” Ribyna said. “Start heading over towards the silt strider and I’ll meet you there!” And with that she tore off, racing over the bridge in the middle of town and zipping up the stairs to speak with the caravaner. 

With a quiet chuckle, Fahjoth shook his head and began to meander at a far more relaxed pace after his twin, passing by one of the townsfolk as he stepped off the bridge. He dipped his head and smiled in casual greeting, but the Dunmer gripped his wrist with such force that Fahjoth gasped in shock. 

He leaned in, his face mere inches from Fahjoth’s own, and Fahjoth could see only too clearly his strangely blank, vacant expression. His eyes, though unfocused, were glaring at Fahjoth with such a scorching intensity that he almost broke out into a sweat, his heart hammering rhythmically in his chest like a trapped sparrow, fast and fearful. 

And then he spoke, his voice gravelly and harsh, the sound of crumbling charcoal over burning ashes. 

_“Beneath Red Mountain, Lord Dagoth sleeps. But when he wakes, we all shall rise, and the dust will blow away. Serve your Lord, Dagoth Ur. The Sixth House is risen, and Dagoth is its glory.”_

Momentarily frozen, Fahjoth’s senses eventually returned to him and his first instinct was to yank his wrist free of the Dunmer’s grip, panting as if he had just run a marathon. The Dunmer jerked as Fahjoth tore free, and then within seconds, the blank look on his face melted away and he cleared his throat, glancing around as if confused. He then regarded Fahjoth with a perfectly normal, albeit rather sleepy stare. 

“What do you think of our city, outlander?” he asked mildly, but before Fahjoth could even think of a response, a voice calling his name caught his attention. 

“Fahji! C’mon, hurry up!”

His mouth dry, Fahjoth wheeled around and dashed after Ribyna, not stopping until he had caught up with his twin. Ribyna looked irate as she immediately began a short rant. 

“I’m not paying for that bloody silt strider. It’s a ripoff! And if we’re gonna stay in Vivec overnight, gods know how much the rooms are gonna set us back, too. Come on, we’ll walk instead—” She paused and frowned as she finally took in Fahjoth’s appearance, while he tried to calm himself down in the meantime. 

“What the fuck’s the matter with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” With a shake of her head, Ribyna corrected herself, “Actually, you weren’t even this pale when we _did_ see a ghost. Did something happen?”

“A— a Dunmer,” Fahjoth began, his gaze rapidly flicking from left to right, half-expecting an attack to come out of nowhere. “A Dunmer stopped me and... and said a thing...” 

However, as he took in Ribyna’s attentive expression, he realised with a heart-wrenching disappointment that there was no way he would be able to explain any of it to her. Not without going into detail about the missions that Cosades had given him, which he had been strictly forbidden to do. He could lie, omit some elements of the truth, but then what would be the point in that? His voice trailed off into silence, leaving him awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. After a few seconds, Ribyna spoke up again. 

“Did he threaten you?” she asked, very seriously. “D’you want me to find this bastard and have a word?”

“No!” Fahjoth replied hastily. With reluctance, he took a deep breath and tried to swallow his anxieties, his gaze wandering down to his wrist as he rubbed it. There was no visible blemish, but somehow, he felt his wrist burning fiercely where the Dunmer had grabbed him. “It’s fine. It was probably nothing. Let’s just go to Vivec,” he added, “I could do with the walk, I think.”

It was clear from her expression that Ribyna didn’t believe him, but his tone of voice made it very clear that to question him further would only exacerbate the issue, and Ribyna relented. “Alright,” she said eventually. “But if you’ve got a problem, you can talk to me, okay?” 

“Yeah... I know. Thanks, Beebs.” Though he wanted nothing more than to confide in his twin, Fahjoth regretfully held back. He was alive, and that was the main thing; telling Cosades could wait until he got back. In his shaken state, he found it far too overwhelming to think about right now anyway, and so the two departed from Balmora and embarked on the considerable journey southwards to Vivec City.


End file.
